nia 
1 


A  *J 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR: 
Home 

Through  Stained  Glass 
John  Bogarduf 
White  Man 


NOT  ALL 
THE  KING'S  HORSES 

A  NOVEL 


By 
GEORGE  AGNEW  CHAMBERLAIN 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1919 

BY 

GEORGE  AGNEW  CHAMBERLAIN 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PffCM  OF 

»«AUWWORTH    ft   CO. 

BOOK  MANUFACTURERS 

BROOKLYN.    N.    V. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED  TO  THE  MEXI 
CAN  PEOPLES,  TO  THE  INARTICULATE, 
TO  THE  MILLIONS  WHO  WERE  STRUCK 
DOWN  BY  THE  HOOF  OF  THE  CONQUEROR 
AND  FOR  FOUR  CENTURIES  HAVE  FED 
BLEEDING  CARRION  TO  AN  ALIEN  VUL 
TURE  HOST 


2126137 


"My  son,  here  is  the  task;  choose  thou  the  tools." 

"Father,  I  have  no  tools.    Let  me  make  a  pool  of 
heart's  blood  wherein  men  may  read." 

"It  is  well;  if  so  be  it  thy  heart  break  not  when  men 
cry  thy  truth  to  be  upon  a  gibbet." 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 


"My  son,  write  me  a  name  that  liveth  on  running 
•water,  -wind-swept  plain,  changing  sands  and  in  the 
untraveled  depths  of  the  primeval  forest" 

"There  is  but  one  such  name,  Father.  Men  know 
it  as  Pioneer." 


Not  All  The  King's  Horses 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  CITY  OF  PALACES  lies  cupped  in  the 
depths  of  a  limited  plain;  north,  south,  east 
and  west  are  equal  before  the  eye  accustomed  to 
determining  direction  by  a  single  outstanding  land 
mark  or  the  sudden  void  of  a  far  horizon,  vision 
meets  a  unique  definition  in  the  unbroken  girdle  of 
a  mountainous  rim.  This  encircling  boundary  though 
indivisible  in  its  symbolic  whole,  piled  high  by  the 
gods  to  form  a  cauldron  wherein  men  may  sweat 
and  stew  through  the  ages  in  lesser  pottering,  is 
yet  not  without  intrinsic  variety. 

To  one  view  its  line  rises  in  denuded  hills,  bare, 
pointed,  brown  and  soft  against  the  azure  sky  as  the 
young  breasts  of  native  women ;  to  another,  it  pre 
sents  the  upward  sweep  of  a  pine-clad  ridge,  lying 
black  like  a  shadow  fixed  for  all  time  upon  the 
mountainside,  cut  sharply  along  its  upper  edge  as 
though  from  that  high  battlement  one  might  leap 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

to  the  fathomless  beginning  and  end  of  all  things. 
Farther  along  the  wide  arc  the  sharp  tooth  of 
Ajusco  stands  like  a  finger  starting  to  point  the 
way  to  God  but  discouraged,  blunted,  sunken  and 
sprawled  at  its  base,  shamed  by  the  aspiring  summits 
of  those  two  snow-hooded  peaks  which  confront  it 
and  winter  and  summer  ravish  the  tried  heart  with 
an  intangible  but  ever-present  illusion  of  purity  and 
peace. 

They  too  are  an  integral  part  of  the  encircling 
barrier  for  there  is  a  mean  to  human  vision  beyond 
which  perspective  gives  way  to  the  hunger  of  the  eye 
to  crowd  all  it  can  embrace  along  the  even  limit  of 
its  reach.  Beneath  their  snowy  heights  there  is  a 
saddle,  a  gap,  almost  a  break  in  the  mountainous 
rim  and  toward  this  pass  a  highway  shoots  straight 
as  an  arrow  along  the  level  plain  only  to  twist  and 
turn  and  writhe  as  it  strikes  the  ramp  and  rises 
steep  and  steeper  for  the  leap  that  will  carry  it  up, 
over  and  down. 

The  traveler  who  follows  its  tortuous  way  is 
doomed  to  the  disappointment  of  fulfillment  de 
ferred  ;  no  precipitous  drop  marks  its  crest,  no  violent 
broadening  of  an  outlook  too  long  inexorably  con- 

14 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

fined.  Its  downward  course  is  first  laid  along  the 
gentle  slope  of  an  apparently  interminable  plateau 
and  meanders  around  knolls,  over  gullies  and 
through  sleepy  villages  crowding  in  to  form  a  double 
wall  as  though  huddling  away  from  the  immensity 
of  spaces  within  easy  reach,  their  houses  mean,  sor 
did,  yet  like  the  thronging  children,  smiling  through 
their  grime. 

The  road  is  old,  older  than  the  Conquest;  for 
many  centuries  the  feet  of  Latins  have  rediscovered 
it  anew.  Like  ancient  families  it  has  known  genera 
tions;  dig  beneath  its  present  surface  and  you  will 
find  its  forebears  in  an  almost  human  succession  of 
rebirth  from  widely  spaced  obliterations,  yet  to-day 
as  at  the  dawn  of  history  it  holds  at  its  end  an  inex 
tinguishable  glory. 

Richard  Digby  found  it  for  himself  twenty  years 
ago.  He  was  on  his  way  to  examine  and  report  on 
certain  old  mine  workings,  his  mind  was  full  of 
thoughts  of  tailing  dumps,  of  abandoned  shafts, 
caved  levels,  transportation  and  costs  as  his  horse 
carried  him  through  the  cobbled  street  of  the  village 
of  Huichilac  and  brought  him  to  the  sudden  turn 
marked  by  the  sharp  angle  of  a  high  wall  which  cu4- 

15 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  world  away  and  left  him  suspended,  breathless 
before  a  revelation  of  splendour  so  present  yet  so 
ephemeral  and  distant  as  to  defy  forever  complete 
absorption. 

Beneath  his  feet  the  road  dropped  away-  with  a 
sheerness  beyond  all  expectation  after  the  dulling 
suspense  of  the  wide  plateau  and  like  many  another 
consummation  long  delayed  became  a  thing  too 
trivial  for  notice.  His  eyes  were  held  aloft  yet  not 
aloft,  plunged  in  the  depths  of  a  vision,  a  memory  of 
his  boyhood's  conception  of  the  Vale  of  Cashmere 
as  that  place  where  beauty  lies  closest  to  the  bosom 
of  the  earth,  blanketed  by  wraithing  mists,  warmed 
by  a  lazy  sun  and  stirring  perpetually  on  the  rosy 
verge  between  awakening  and  slumber. 

Two  thousand  feet  below  yet  near  as  the  hand  of 
a  child  laid  upon  the  breast  stretched  the  valley  of 
his  dreams.  Pale,  golden  undulations  rolled  their 
still  waves  against  the  sloping  shores  of  scattered 
hills,  divided  to  the  thin  gleam  of  silver  water  and 
laughed  at  the  frown  of  a  single  buttressed  crag 
which  towered  from  their  very  midst  in  startling 
.semblance  to  the  imagined  giant's  castle  of  long- 
forgotten  fairy  tales.  Beyond  the  crag,  softening 
its  stark  lines,  making  naught  of  its  chained  and 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

earth-bound  terror,  rose  great  Popo  in  an  even  cone 
of  snow  which  drew  the  eye  to  its  dazzling  pinnacle 
as  to  the  concentration  of  a  light  too  deeply  fused 
for  human  penetration  yet  soft,  lucent,  embracing, 
like  sunshine  under  shelter  from  the  wind  on  a 
winter  day. 

Here  and  there  hanging  in  the  profound  scallop 
were  wisps  of  cloud,  patches  of  dissolving  and  re 
forming  mist,  ghosts  caught  still  at  play  by  dawn 
and  seen  through  a  haze  shot  with  an  amber  glow 
so  pale  that  it  seemed  made  up  of  infinitesimal  par 
ticles  of  gold  held  in  warm  and  gently  breathing 
suspension. 

There  is  no  telling  how  long  Digby  would  have 
remained  spellbound  before  that  scene,  all  the  more 
wonderful  in  that  it  gripped  him  after  wide  wander 
ings  and  acquaintance  with  many  marvels  of  the 
earth,  had  not  Mauricio,  his  guide,  completed  the 
rolling  of  a  cigarette  and  spoken. 

"From  here  on,  I  lead,  master,"  he  murmured 
softly  as  though  in  instinctive  deference  to  one  en 
gaged  in  worship.  "The  trail  we  must  find  is  a 
hidden  and  forgotten  thing  but  I  shall  smell  it  out 
for  you.  Have  no  fear  of  that." 

He  dug  heels  into  the  fat  sides  of  his  lazy  mule 
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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

and  forced  her  to  begin  the  descent  with  mincing 
steps,  neck  outstretched,  ears  pricked  forward  and 
nostrils  working  like  the  attense  of  some  monstrous 
insect  in  feigned  alarm.  The  horse  followed  easily 
with  that  quick  shifting  of  responsibility  so  marked 
among  animals  willing  to  grant  the  lead  to  another. 
Digby  took  a  fresh  knee-grip  on  his  mount's 
sunken  withers  and  sat  at  a  sharp  slant,  one  hand 
resting  heavily  on  the  haunches  raised  so  abruptly 
as  almost  to  touch  the  rider's  shoulders. 

So  steep  was  the  winding  way  that  he  would  have 
had  to  look  directly  down  to  see  the  guide ;  he  could 
still  give  himself  to  the  view  which  at  each  curve 
broke  upon  him  with  entrancing  changes  yet  always 
holding  its  promise  of  enduring  and  inexhaustible 

charm.    Presently  he  distinguished  with  a  ravishing 
i 

clearness  the  outlines  of  the  town  in  the  valley 
•which  had  so  far  appeared  merely  as  a  blotch  of 
richer  colours  on  the  palette  of  the  Master  Painter. 
The  red-browns  of  its  roofs,  the  white  gleam  of 
its  cobbled  streets,  the  multi-tinted  walls  of  its 
squat  houses  and,  above  all,  the  scintillating  bril 
liancy  of  the  bright  tiles  which  encrusted  the  half- 
Moorish  towers  of  its  churches,  catching  the  sun 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

on  a  thousand  facets  and  scattering  the  rays  like 
arrows  softened  by  their  fleeting  imprisonment  from 
harm  to  the  eye,  all  welded  into  the  black-green  of 
its  summer  gardens  and  seemed  to  warn  the  lover 
of  beauty  against  a  too-near  approach. 

It  was  almost  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  Digby 
welcomed  a  sudden  halt  on  the  part  of  the  guide 
and  watched  him  draw  aside  with  a  self-satisfied 
grin  the  matted  growth  which  masked  the  entrance 
to  a  narrow  bridle-path,  long  disused. 

"It  is  here,"  said  Mauricio,  letting  go  the  branches 
and  settling  back  to  the  business  of  rolling  a  fresh 
cigarette  as  though  the  mere  finding  of  the  trail 
had  brought  a  final  period  to  all  endeavour. 

There  is  no  limit  to  the  consideration,  the  pa 
tience,  of  one  smoker  toward  another,  leading 
almost  invariably  to  emulation.  Digby  was  in  a 
hurry  but  he  hung  his  knee  on  the  pummel  of  his 
saddle,  drew  out  his  pipe,  filled  and  lit  it  and 
smoked  as  placidly  as  the  guide  who  sat  looking 
out  over  the  valley  in  a  dreamy-eyed  enjoyment  of 
a  sensual  well-being  too  vague  and  elusive  for 
naming  by  his  dull  mind  but  which  held  him  none 
the  less  to  that  moment  of  time  as  to  an  incident 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

worthy  of  prolongation  simply  because  it  was  pleas 
urable.  Not  even  Digby  could  have  seen  in  this 
conscious  immobility  the  symbol  of  a  racial  motto 
which  clutches  at  the  little  things  of  to-day  to  the 
detriment  of  the  weighty  affairs  of  the  morrow. 

Reluctantly  Mauricio  flicked  away  the  butt  of 
his  cigarette  and  with  heels  and  abjurations  drove 
his  mule  into  the  fronded  trail;  Digby  followed 
closely,  catching  the  switching  branches  on  his 
upheld  arms.  Presently  he  had  no  need  to  defend 
his  face;  the  trail  widened  as  is  the  way  of  aban 
doned  roads  once  rediscovered  and  here  and  there 
showed  the  markings  of  heavy  wooden  wheels,  long 
since  rotted  while  their  sign-manual  yet  lived  to 
guide  the  feet  of  men. 

The  way  still  descended  but  very  gradually.  It 
clung  to  the  side  of  the  mountain,  now  following 
deep  indentations  into  sudden  dark  gullies,  now 
pushing  boldly  around  some  exposed  shoulder 
which  brought  a  recurring  and  ever-breathless 
view  of  the  golden  valley.  At  one  spot  it  crossed 
a  flat,  level  as  the  floor  of  a  house,  sparsely  covered 
with  second-growth  trees  and  hanging  like  a  gal- 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

lery  above  the  lazy  and  untroubled  town  which  had 
dreamed  its  way  surprisingly  near  to  the  foothills. 

Dig-by  brought  his  horse  to  a  stand-still  and 
stared  at  the  last  crumbling  ruins  of  a  dwelling. 
"Is  this  place  near  the  mine  ?"  he  asked,  wondering 
at  the  impulse  that  drove  him  to  ask  the  question. 

"It  is  so  near,"  replied  Mauricio,  "that  we  may 
say  that  we  are  there.  But  one  more  turn,  one  little 
turn." 

Just  beyond  the  flat  protruded  a  mighty  rib  of 
the  mountain  range;  it  presented  to  the  elements  a 
saw-like  edge,  roughened  against  the  winds,  stand 
ing  out  and  climbing  up  against  the  far  sky  as  though 
its  mission  were  to  cut  the  world  in  two.  The  trail 
crept  around  its  bold  nose  and  then  led  in  a  back 
ward  sweep  which  left  the  valley  far  behind  to  an 
exposed  water-shed  where  ill-defined  mounds  and 
gaping  caverns  proclaimed  journey's  end  to  Digby's 
practised  eye. 

He  dismounted  in  surroundings  so  uncompro 
misingly  and  suddenly  bleak  that  the  flat  with  its 
sheltered  peace  and  broad  outlook  became  almost 
immediately  a  memory;  not  even  a  small  tree  to 
which  he  might  tether  his  horse  broke  the  uneven 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Barrenness  of  old  workings  too  deep  in  shale  to 
harbour  vegetation.  He  glanced  around  to  see  just 
what  he  would  need  to  supplement  the  meagre 
equipment  he  had  brought  with  him,  returned  to  the 
flat,  despatched  Mauricio  to  the  town  below  and 
himself  prepared  to  set  a  primitive  camp. 

For  three  days  he  burrowed,  panned,  sounded 
and  took  samples ;  for  three  nights  he  and  his  guide 
rolled  each  in  a  single  poncho  slept  under  the  open 
sky  on  the  edge  of  the  world,  tucked  in  a  pool  of 
stars,  and  awaked  to  a  dawn  like  a  tepid  bath  of 
floating  gold  inviting  them  to  plunge  and  forever 
forget.  From  that  scene  Digby  turned  away  with 
a  well-defined  pang  of  regret;  he  had  small  hopes 
that  the  powerful  company  by  which  he  was  em 
ployed  would  be  interested  in  his  modest  findings, 
he  felt  in  his  heart  that  this  moment  of  departure 
was  one  of  long  farewell  to  a  spot  that  already 
had  wrapped  its  tendrils  firmly  to  memory. 

His  premonition  was  correct  to  a  certain  point; 
his  company  examined  his  report,  complimented 
him  on  its  thoroughness,  laid  it  aside  and  in  due 
course  proposed  the  abandonment  of  its  option  to 
what  were  known  as  the  Pico  workings.  It  was  at 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

this  stage  of  the  proceedings  that  fate  was  given 
an  unforseen  turn  by  the  impulsive  action  of  the 
youngest  of  the  local  directors,  a  man  of  moderate 
purse,  long  vision  and  unlimited  daring,  Roxon 
Ellerton  by  name. 

"It  appears  from  the  preliminary  survey,"  he 
said,  "that  the  material  in  sight  would  justify  a 
private  enterprise.  I  request  that  the  board  make 
a  further  inspection  at  my  expense  for  our  mutual 
protection  and  if  the  result  confirms  Digby's  find 
ings  as  we  all  know  it  will,  I  would  like  to  have 
the  option  transferred  to  my  name  subject  to  the 
original  payment." 

Xo  objection  was  offered  to  this  procedure  and 
at  the  break-up  of  the  meeting  comment  was  limited 
to  chaffing  Ellerton  on  his  ambition  to  rid  himself 
of  what  money  he  possessed.  He  made  no  reply 
but  sought  out  Digby  and  led  him  off  for  a  walk  out 
of  the  range  of  the  din  of  the  rumbling  batteries. 
When  they  had  found  a  nook  sheltered  from  sound 
and  the  winds  that  swept  the  barren  hills,  he  went 
straight  to  the  point  with  a  leading  question. 

"Dick,  how  much  money  have  you  got  laid  by 
and  how  much  can  you  reach  ?" 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

After  a  pause  Digby  named  two  modest  sums 
and  asked  in  his  turn,  "What's  the  idea,  Rox?" 

"I  haven't  been  able  to  forget,"  answered  Eller- 
ton,  "what  you  told  me  about  your  trip  to  the  Pico. 
Not  the  stuff  covered  in  the  report;  that's  all  down 
in  black  and  white,  but  about  the  flat  and  the  valley 
and  the  view.  Think  of  those  things  getting  under 
your  shell-back  crust!" 

Digby  said  nothing;  he  picked  up  a  bit  of  schist 
and  began  crumbling  it  between  his  strong  fingers. 

"Dick,"  continued  Ellerton,  "I've  taken  over  the 
Pico  option  for  our  joint  account.  I've  asked  the 
local  board  for  an  independent  inspection  to  con 
firm  your  report  and  let  everybody  off  with  a  clean 
start  and  now  I  want  you  to  think  the  whole  thing 
out  and  talk  it  over  with  Mary.  What  could  we 
do  with  a  ten-stamp  mill  and  what  would  it  cost  us 
to  put  it  there?  What  if  we  made  it  five  stamps 
to  begin  with  and  grew  to  ten  if  the  game  showed 
colour?" 

He  watched  Digby's  deep-set  eyes  catch  fire  and 
burn  in  an  intensity  of  concentration  which  made 
further  speech  unnecessary.  The  two  men  sat  in 
silence  for  a  long  time ;  then  Digby  arose  and  walk- 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ing  still  in  a  trance  made  his  way  back  to  the  camp 
and  to  his  own  modest  dwelling,  a  bare  shack  as 
comfortable  as  money  and  circumstances  would 
permit  but  standing  like  a  sister  to  dust,  without 
outlook,  a  clapboarded  alien  shell  in  a  land  of  thick 
mud  walls. 

As  he  climbed  the  steps  to  the  hollow-sounding 
veranda  his  wife,  Mary,  opened  the  front  door  and 
welcomed  him  with  a  quick,  intimate  smile,  such  a 
smile  as  a  woman  of  deep  reserves  keeps  for  the 
one  man  while  he  holds  her  and  at  his  passing 
buries  forever  with  crushed  ribbons,  crisped  rose- 
leaves  and  the  memories  of  that  youth  which  once 
released  knows  no  returning. 

"You're  early,  Dick,"  she  said  in  a  voice  as  con 
tained  but  as  warm  with  promise  as  her  smile. 

"Not  too  early  to  find  you  dressed,"  replied 
Digby,  laying  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  hold 
ing  her  at  arms'  length  while  he  studied  her. 

She  was  not  dressed  in  the  full  social  sense  of 
the  term ;  what  he  meant  was  that  she  had  changed 
in  the  late  afternoon  as  was  her  custom  to  a  formal 
gown.  It  was  of  dark  ribbed  silk,  transparent 
above  a  fitted  white  bodice  and  white  underskirt, 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

relieved  by  strips  of  ribbon  from  which,  below  the 
knees,  were  suspended  two  flounces  of  black  net 
enveloping  in  veiling  clouds  ankles  and  even  feet 
in  a  chaste  modesty  forgotten  by  a  later  day. 
Around  her  neck  and  waist  were  bands  of  white 
and  at  her  throat  was  a  bit  of  lawn  like  a  flurry  of 
snow.  Her  soft  hair,  divided  in  the  middle,  swept 
down  low  over  her  ears  but  was  carried  up  at  the 
back  in  a  twisted  knot  that  peeped  over  her  head 
with  an  air  of  imprisoned  impertinence. 

"You've  got  something  you  want  to  talk  about," 
she  stated  in  answer  to  his  long  look,  "and,  oh, 
dear,  here  they  come !" 

Three  voices,  one  in  a  shout,  one  in  hysterical 
laughter  and  one  a  mere  squeal  from  a  very  young 
person,  heralded  the  onslaught  of  Digby's  children. 
First  came  Richard,  Junior,  a  boy  of  five,  round- 
cheeked  and  round-eyed,  seriously  intent  on  giving 
his  father  a  rough  handling;  close  behind  him  fol 
lowed  Laura,  older  by  a  year  but  never  in  the  lead, 
laughing  excitedly.  Trailing  in  their  wake,  Made 
leine,  the  baby,  emitted  young  animal  grunts  of  de 
termination  as  she  propelled  herself  in  an  inexpert, 
short-legged  zigzag  across  the  floor. 

Digby  sat  down  in  a  big  chair  and  gathered  them 
26 


up,  one  after  the  other,  until  his  arms  were  full  of 
a  soft,  palpitating  mass  that  with  many  rustlings 
of  fresh  garments  and  prolonged  wriggling  finally 
subsided  to  comparative  rest  in  his  lap.  He  buried 
his  nose  in  their  hair,  in  the  baby's  neck  and  against 
Laura's  cool  cheek.  "They  smell  of  soap,"  he  mur 
mured  as  he  raised  grateful  eyes  to  his  wife's  face. 

He  was  not  at  this  stage  of  his  development  an 
especially  articulate  person  but  he  had  a  way  of 
saying  many  things  with  a  single  look;  so  now  he 
thanked  Mary  with  a  glance  for  her  continuing  en 
deavour  toward  cleanliness  in  an  atmosphere  of 
general  relaxation,  told  her  he  knew  what  it  cost  in 
labour  but  that  the  effort  was  well  spent  if  it  could 
add  enchantment  to  orthodox  affection. 

"Clean  children,"  he  whispered  as  though  in  ex 
planation  to  himself  as  he  raised  the  baby  bodily 
in  one  hand  to  tickle  with  his  moustache  its  fat 
bare  leg,  so  incredibly  smooth,  soft  and  pliant  yet 
so  undeniably  a  living  and  active  substance  as  he 
presently  learned  by  a  kick  from  the  knee  that 
brought  tears  to  his  eyes. 

That  evening  when  the  children  were  asleep, 
each  in  a  separate  crib,  Digby  returned  to  the  big 

27 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

chair,  lit  his  pipe  and  drew  his  wife  to  a  seat 
against  his  shoulder.  The  windows  which  had  been 
closed  throughout  the  day  to  exclude  the  dust  were 
now  open  but  through  them  came  no  fragrance; 
instead  the  odour  of  damp  dumps,  bare  of  plants 
and  foliage,  lay  heavy  upon  the  air. 

"Mary,"  he  asked,  "do  you  like  it  here?" 

At  the  question  his  wife's  body  slowly  straight 
ened.  "Do  you  have  to  be  here,  Dick?"  she  asked 
in  return. 

He  laughed  aloud,  his  arm  tightening  about  her 
waist.  "If  I  do,  why  you'll  continue  to  like  it!" 
His  face  sobered.  "We  don't  have  to  stay  here," 
he  continued.  "Ellerton  put  a  proposition  to  me 
this  afternoon;  it  will  take  every  cent  of  our  sav 
ings.  I  want  to  talk  it  over  with  you." 

"Mr.  Ellerton,"  said  Mary  slowly,  "is  a  gam 
bler,  a  nice,  lovable  gambler."  She  arose  and  took 
another  chair  from  which  she  could  watch  her  hus 
band's  face,  gathered  in  a  frown  not  of  impatience 
but  of  concentration. 

"Yes;  perhaps,"  said  Digby,  "but  listen  to  me 
for  a  while.  You're  too  close  to  the  big  mine  here 
to  see  something  a  whole  lot  bigger  if  I  don't  show 

28 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

it  to  you.  The  world  has  never  known  better  min 
ers  in  the  rough  than  the  Spaniards;  they  were 
thorough,  persistent,  insatiable.  They  clawed  the 
Americas,  North,  Middle  and  South,  with  their  fin 
ger-nails  and  few  were  the  chances  they  missed. 
Grinding  away  with  their  arrastras,  using  beds  of 
stone  for  their  amalgamation,  making  the  best  of 
the  materials  at  hand,  they  took  everything  there 
was  to  take  in  their  day.  Where  they  passed, 
scarcely  a  single  new  field  of  importance  has  been 
opened  since.  But  in  1890,  not  ten  years  ago, 
something  happened." 

"What?"  asked  Mary,  breaking  into  Digby's  si 
lence  of  absorption. 

"MacArthur  and  Forrest  patented  the  commer 
cial  process  of  potassium  cyanide,"  he  replied. 
"That  doesn't  mean  anything  to  you,  does  it?  But 
on  that  event  hang  a  number  of  tales.  We  tech 
nical  men  came  into  our  own.  If  you  want  to  man 
age  a  gold  mine  to-day,  it  isn't  enough  to  have  a 
nose  for  the  run  of  a  reef  or  to  be  a  master  at 
underground  work  or  a  financier  at  flotations  or  an 
alchemist  come  to  flesh.  You've  got  to  be  them 
all.  Even  that's  a  mere  incident.  You  didn't  know 

29 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

you  were  living  in  the  midst  of  a  miracle,  a  resur 
rection." 

Mary  glanced  out  of  the  darkened  windows  and 
smiled.  "No,"  she  answered,  "I  hadn't  felt  that." 

"Perhaps  I've  put  it  a  bit  strong,"  said  Digby 
thoughtfully,  "but  anyway,  it's  a  mighty  progres 
sion.  The  Spaniards  with  their  old  arrastras  had 
the  right  idea;  gold  is  recovered  to  the  extent  of 
its  pulverization,  its  infinitesimal  subdivision.  They 
pounded  their  ores  as  fine  as  they  knew  how  and 
left  the  tailings  and  the  bodies  too  deep  or  too  low- 
grade  for  profit  to  the  day  of  cyanide,  our  day." 

Mary  shook  her  head  from  side  to  side.  "I  don't 
see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,"  she  confessed,  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  drooping. 

"You  will,"  said  Digby  quickly,  "when  I  tell  you 
that  cyanide  goes  beyond  subdivisions;  it  reduces 
gold  to  a  solution,  practically  to  a  liquid.  Think 
of  oil  and  water;  call  the  water  gold  in  suspension 
and  the  rest  of  the  mess  you've  seen  in  the  tanks 
the  oil.  How  easy  to  run  one  off  from  the  other 
and  how  cheap!  The  recovery  of  gold  isn't  quite 
so  simple  as  all  that  but  I  just  want  you  to  see." 

"And  I  do,"  said  Mary.  "Couldn't  you  have 
told  me  sooner  and  come  to  Mr.  Ellerton?" 

30 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Not  one  word  sooner,"  said  Digby.  "An  ounce 
of  solid  conviction  is  worth  a  pound  of  easy  con 
version.  I  wanted  you  to  see  that  when  Ellerton 
and  I  take  over  old  mine  workings  with  an  estab 
lished  tonnage  of  dumps  in  sight,  we  aren't  gam 
bling;  we're  simply  riding  the  wave  of  the  mathe 
matical  progression  that  I  called  a  resurrection. 
Listen." 

He  reached  to  his  desk,  drew  out  a  printed  re 
port  and  turned  to  a  much-thumbed  table  of  figures. 
"In  1893  this  whole  country  produced  just  over 
sixty-three  thousand  ounces  of  gold.  We  and  the 
English  came  in  here  with  brains,  cyanide  and  a 
little  money  to  buy  what  others  couldn't  use,  and 
in  1894  the  production  jumped  to  two  hundred  and 
eighteen  thousand  ounces.  This  year  it  will  pass 
four  hundred  thousand;  ten  years  hence  I'm  as 
sure  as  flowers  in  spring  that  it  will  go  over  the 
million.  Is  that  a  resurrection,  girl,  or  isn't  it?" 
"It  is,  Dick,"  answered  Mary.  "I'm  with  you; 
what  you  believe,  I  believe.  I — I  have  to.  You 
know  that." 

He  reached  over  to  lay  a  hand  on  her  knee.  "You 
women,"  he  said  wonderingly,  "have  to  believe  with 
heart  and  head.  There's  no  good  telling  you  things 

31 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

for  the  sheer  truth  in  them;  unless  your  heart's  in 
it,  they  pass  over." 

"Why,  Dick!"  cried  Mary,  a  faint  flush  in  her 
usually  pale  cheeks  and  a  gleam  of  amusement  in 
her  eyes.  "You're  becoming  a  philosopher  or  at 
least  an  analyst." 

"I've  been  an  analyst  by  inclination  ever  since  I 
can  remember,"  said  Digby  soberly,  "and  by  profes 
sion  for  six  years,  with  you.  Talking  of  gold  as  a 
soluble  in  cyanide  made  me  think  of  a  woman's 
heart  and  head  in  the  same  terms.  I  guess  we're 
all  like  that;  apt  to  measure  life  with  the  yardstick 
we  know  best." 

Mary  arose,  came  to  him  and  knelt  between  his 
knees.  "Take  me  in  your  arms  for  a  minute,"  she 
said,  laying  her  face  fleetingly  against  his  cheek. 

She  was  of  those  women  who  are  like  walled 
gardens,  presenting  to  the  world  unbroken  fronts, 
misers  in  demonstration  of  affection,  deep  wells  of 
emotion  held  in  reserve  and  rarely  stirred  by  the 
dip  of  a  drinking  cup.  The  slightest  giving  of  self 
from  such  a  source  attains  a  significance  far  beyond 
the  easy,  total  surrender  of  lesser  personalities  and 
moves  man  to  unimagined  depths  of  sensation. 

32 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Digby  wrapped  his  arms  about  his  wife  and  crushed 
her  to  him. 

"Oh,  Dick,"  she  whispered,  "don't  be  rough." 


"Recite  to  me,  my  son,  the  rule  of  beginnings." 

"As  the  tuig  is  set,  the  blade  sprung,  the  seed  dis 
posed,  so  shall  the  plant  be." 

"Ho^v  short  is  the  reach  of  thy  wisdom!    Add  thou, 
'Until  the  hurricane' " 


CHAPTER  II 

DIGBY  quickly  obtained  his  release  together 
with  a  bonus  and  a  hearty  God-speed-you 
from  the  monster  concern  he  had  served  during 
six  years.  The  generous  treatment  meted  out  to 
him  brought  with  it  a  pang  almost  of  regret  for 
the  parting  but  the  wound,  such  as  it  was,  soon 
healed  under  the  unfailing  elixir  of  independence 
which  since  the  birth  of  time  has  inspired  man  with 
the  belief  that  only  he  who  is  his  own  master  can 
stand  quite  erect. 

Accompanied  by  Ellerton  he  revisited  the  scene 
of  what  soon  was  to  be  known  as  the  Pico  mine. 
They  merely  glanced  at  the  old  workings  and  the 
tailing  dumps,  returning  on  a  common  impulse  to 
the  flat  as  a  center  from  which  they  might  best 
obtain  a  broad  survey  of  their  entire  enterprise. 

Ellerton  became  enthusiastic  to  the  verge  of  ex 
citement  as  he  inspected  the  level  ground.  "Dick," 
he  said,  "there's  an  acre  of  it;  good  loam,  too,  silted 

35 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

down  thick  and  deep.  You  can  grow  anything, 
anything  there's  room  for." 

He  moved  to  the  precipitous  edge.  "Look  here," 
he  continued.  "You  can  bring  in  a  driveway  along 
the  trail  from  the  main  road  and  we  won't  think 
of  using  it  for  the  mine  traffic.  No  sir.  We'll 
swing  a  cable  straight  down  the  mountain  for  that. 
It's  the  sensible  thing  anyway,  for  by  the  time 
we're  ready  Hanley's  railway  will  be  through  to 
the  town.  A  bit  of  luck,  that ;  a  great  bit  of  luck." 

"There  are  a  lot  of  bits  of  luck  around  here," 
said  Digby  thoughtfully.  He  glanced  up  at  the 
mighty  rib  of  rock  which  walled  the  farther  limit 
of  the  flat.  "Take  that,  now.  Sound  can't  come 
through  it  nor  wind." 

Ellerton  nodded.  "Power,  too,"  he  said,  con 
tinuing  his  own  train  of  thought.  "We're  within 
easy  tapping  distance  of  the  city  plant."  Then  he 
added  more  eagerly,  "I'll  tell  you  what  let's  do, 
Dick.  Let's  get  busy  on  the  driveway  and  the 
house;  we've  got  to  have  them  anyway  and  Mary 
hates  the  City.  Let's  build  the  whole  thing  pronto, 
name  it  Mountain  Acre  and  spring  it  on  her." 

Digby  smiled  a  slow  smile.  "The  name's  all 
right,"  he  said,  "she'll  love  it  because  it's  the  only 

36 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

possible;  the  driveway,  too.  We  could  get  away 
with  that.  But  as  to  deliberately  building  Mary 
or  any  other  true  woman  a  house,  sight  unseen, 
why,  you're  just  not  married,  that's  all." 

"Are  they  like  that?"  asked  Ellerton  meekly. 
"Well,  couldn't  you  get  her  to  O.  K.  the  plans?" 

"I'll  try,"  said  Digby. 

The  remainder  of  their  visit  was  devoted  to  strict 
technicalities  of  scientific  mining;  they  studied  an 
chorages,  foundations  and  equipment  space,  mapped 
out  rights  of  way  for  immediate  purchase,  specu 
lated  on  their  resources  in  the  face  of  their  needs  and 
finally  explored  water  sources  and  a  supplementary 
trail  direct  from  the  mine  to  the  town  beneath. 

Upon  returning  to  the  City  they  effected  a  divi 
sion  of  labour;  Ellerton  was  to  busy  himself  with 
the  securing  of  all  necessary  titles,  to  Digby  fell  the 
work  of  placing  orders  immediately  for  a  ten-stamp 
mill  and  accessories.  As  soon  as  that  was  off  his 
hands  he  was  to  go  ahead  with  the  building  of  his 
house,  an  occupation  which  would  form  the  strong 
est  possible  palliative  for  natural  impatience  during 
the  long  interims  between  ordering  and  consignment 
and  actual  delivery. 

His  conscience  would  not  let  him  even  broach  the 
37 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

subject  of  their  new  house  to  his  wife  until  he  had 
sent  off  the  last  of  his  carefully  prepared  specifica 
tion  sheets  but,  that  done,  he  provided  himself  with 
a  large  pad  and  pencil,  drew  her  aside  in  the  quiet 
of  the  late  evening  and  asked  her  the  great  question. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "I  guess  every  woman  who  has 
had  to  put  up  with  ready-made  surroundings  has  a 
dream-house  in  the  back  of  her  head.  I  don't  mean 
a  castle  in  Spain,  but  a  genuine  home  for  every-day 
wear.  Have  you  got  one  handy  so  that  you  could 
put  it  down  here?"  He  pushed  the  pad  of  paper 
toward  her. 

She  took  it  and  fingered  it  absent-mindedly.  Her 
eyes  grew  large  and  absorbed  in  concentration,  her 
li'ps  moved  softly  in  unspoken  meditations.  "Dick," 
she  said  finally,  "you're  a  dear  boy,  a  thoughtful 
boy.  Here;  write  it  down.  I  want  a  low  house 
without  stairs,  but  high  ceilings;  thick,  adobe  walls, 
a  house  four-square  with  a  patio  in  the  center.  Will 
vines  grow  where  we're  going  and  plants?" 

"Every  single  thing  under  the  sun,"  answered 
Digby,  glancing  up  to  smile  at  the  wistfulness  in  her 
tone. 

"Then  along  the  whole  front  a  tiled  pergola  in- 
38 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

stead  of  a  veranda  and  from  each  room  at  least  one 
French  window  opening  all  the  way  down." 

"Picnickers,"  murmured  Digby. 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  Mary,  impatient  at 
the  interruption. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Digby  hastily.  "Why  not 
have  them  all  that  way  except  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  There  will  be  no  mosquitoes." 

"All  right,"  she  agreed.  "I  don't  want  tiles  in  the 
house ;  they  are  chilly,  not  really  pleasantly  cool  and 
they  tire  one.  Could  we  have  waxed  floors  ?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Digby  without  looking  up. 

"Well,  hardwood  floors,  then,"  continued  Mary, 
"and  only  two  big  rooms  at  the  front,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  doorway  and  hall,  a  dining-room  and  a 
living-room.  One  side  of  the  house  will  be  bedrooms 
and  bath;  the  kitchen  will  have  a  corner,  but  the 
backmost  corner.  Do  you  understand  that?" 

"Surely,"  said  Digby.  "In  the  back  wing  with 
the  kitchen,  a  pantry,  washhouse  and  servants'  quar 
ters.  Is  that  right?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  "and  opposite  the  bedrooms, — 
That's  all  we  have  left,  isn't  it?" 

He  nodded. 

39 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Well,  opposite  the  bedrooms  a  guest-chamber 
and  bath  and  a  den  for  you." 

"Is  that  all  ?    Are  you  sure  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,  not  all,"  said  Mary.  "There's  this."  She 
took  his  face  in  her  hands,  kissed  him  full  on  the 
lips,  dropped  her  head  to  his  shoulder,  relaxed  her 
body  against  him  and  began  to  cry  softly. 

He  patted  her  on  the  back,  a  smile  of  understand 
ing  in  his  gray  eyes. 

The  next  three  months  were  among  the  happiest 
in  Digby's  life,  for  excitement  added  its  fillip  to  con 
tent.  He  worked  like  a  Trojan  and  as  all  the  mate 
rials  and  labour  for  the  sort  of  house  Mary  had 
chosen  were  ready  to  hand,  its  construction  pro 
ceeded  at  a  speed  seldom  achieved  in  that  land  of 
many  morrows.  He  was  often  away  for  a  week  at 
a  time,  sleeping  by  night  under  the  stars  as  on  the 
occasion  of  his  first  visit  with  Mauricio  and  by  day 
urging  the  peons  and  carpenters  good-naturedly  but 
effectively  to  a  bare  continuity  of  endeavour  which 
in  itself  became  a  sure  measure  of  pace  toward  com 
pletion  of  their  task. 

These  absences  awoke  his  wonder  at  the  fulness 
of  his  happiness ;  he  had  been  away  from  Mary  be- 

40 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

fore  but  never  with  this  frequency  of  interim  and 
return  leading  to  increasing  satisfaction  at  every 
meeting.  Puzzling  over  the  problem,  he  strove  to 
put  it  in  terms  of  professional  technic  and  speculated 
as  to  whether  the  spirit  of  absolute  communion  is 
not  an  alternating  current. 

Many  were  the  strange  thoughts  that  came  to  his 
brain,  grown  suddenly  to  a  new  activity  as  though 
from  a  fresh  birth,  during  the  long  hours  of  idle 
supervision.  He  stared  out  over  the  valley  time  and 
again,  frowned  and  questioned  it  as  if  in  its  deep 
cup  of  beauty  were  held  a  meaning  just  beyond  the 
reach  of  his  development,  a  significance  that  steadily 
pursued  would  some  day  burst  upon  him  in  an  illum 
ination  which  might  envelop  the  whole  earth,  seen 
now  but  dimly  and  blurred  as  through  a  mottled 
glass. 

In  such  moods  he  had  a  feeling  not  of  impotence 
but  of  attainment  deferred.  He  and  Mary  were 
young,  they  had  not  the  security  which  comes  to 
appetites  dulled  by  age,  they  were  exiles,  far  from 
their  native  land  and  all  the  implications  of  support 
which  kindred  and  old  associations  bestow,  but  to 
their  uncertainty  and  the  apparent  precariousness  of 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

their  footing  had  come  a  great  compensation,  a  com 
pensation  of  enduring  youth :  they  stood  upon  a 
threshold ;  their  own. 

At  last  the  house  was  complete  but  starkly  bare ; 
power  had  been  brought  to  it  along  with  the  pre 
liminary  installation  for  the  mine  and  here  and  there 
Digby  hung  temporary  lamps  pending  arrival  of  the 
fixtures  of  Mary's  choosing.  Water  in  plenty  had 
been  piped  and  with  a  fine  head  from  the  new  dam 
far  up  on  the  mountain;  the  calcimined  walls  were 
stained  a  light  golden  drab;  all  the  debris  of  build 
ing  had  been  carted  away  and  with  it  the  under 
brush  from  the  entire  flat,  leaving  it  naked  beneath 
the  few  trees,  carefully  conserved. 

The  trail  had  been  cleared  to  an  even  width  all  the 
way  to  the  highroad,  but  was  still  rough  and  un 
finished  when  the  heavy  cart  arrived  loaded  with 
the  cots,  bedding,  pots,  pans  and  provisions  that 
Mary  had  selected  as  the  minimum  with  which  the 
family  could  camp  in  comfort  in  the  new  home.  She 
did  not  come  with  them  nor  did  the  children,  but 
on  the  following  day  Digby  arranged  with  the 
friendly  contractors  a  car  to  bring  them  all  to  the 
railhead  which  was  already  within  half  a  mile  of 

42 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  town  in  the  valley.  From  there  a  wagon  drawn 
.by  four  mules  carried  them  to  the  very  house. 

The  excited  children  clamored  to  be  put  down 
the  moment  the  mules,  panting  from  the  steep 
ascent,  came  to  a  halt ;  but  Mary  sat  quite  still  except 
for  the  agitation  of  her  bosom.  Before  her  were 
the  house  and  the  pergola,  the  latter  more  won 
derfully  fitting  than  she  could  have  imagined  for  it 
gave  promise  of  a  stately  embowered  gallery  on  the 
edge  of  space ;  on  her  right  was  the  flat.  Wherever 
she  looked  her  eyes  saw  nakedness  but  it  was  a 
nudity  as  full  of  promise  and  as  demanding  of  ten 
der  care  as  that  of  babes  newborn,  crying  for  soft 
raiment.  To  her  left  was  the  valley.  Upon  this 
first  full  sight  of  it  her  eyes  widened,  turned  dim 
as  though  drunk  with  quaffing  too  greedily  of  its 
beauty,  filled  slowly  with  tears. 

Digby  held  out  his  arms  and  helped  her  down; 
he  waved  one  hand  in  an  enfolding  gesture  toward 
the  flat.  "There's  just  one  acre  of  it,"  he  said, 
"tucked  here  into  the  mountain.  What  shall  we 
call  it?" 

"Just  one  acre?"  repeated  Mary  still  a  little  dazed. 
"Why  not  call  it  Mountain  Acre  ?" 

43 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"That's  strange,"  replied  Digby  placidly.  "It's 
the  very  name  Ellerton  suggested.  It  must  be  the 
right  one  if  you  both  thought  of  it." 

"You  boy !"  cried  Mary,  smiling  through  the  mois 
ture  in  her  eyes.  "Don't  you  suppose  I  can  see  that 
you  deliberately  put  it  into  my  mind?  Give  Rox 
Ellerton  the  honour  that  is  his  due;  it's  the  only 
name." 

Happy  are  those  who  can  look  back  to  begin 
nings,  who  can  recollect  the  birth  of  a  wistaria  trunk 
of  the  thickness  of  a  man's  arm,  who  can  pick  the 
fruits  of  trees  planted  by  their  own  hands  and  see 
in  stalwart  sons  and  daughters  the  full  day  of  a 
pink  remembered  dawn.  Youth  builds  unknowingly ; 
it  doubts  of  the  ultimate  fulness  of  a  sprouting 
vine,  sighs  at  the  hope  deferred  of  an  orchard  in 
embryo  and  despairs  utterly  of  the  creeping  fruition 
of  a  buried  acorn,  seldom  planted  with  deliberate  in 
tent  save  by  the  very  old  who  have  learned  in  the 
shadow  of  fronded,  towering  trees  the  fleeting  qual 
ity  of  years. 

Mary  and  Richard  Digby  were  still  young  in  days 
and  in  heart  when  they  came  to  Mountain  Acre  but 
it  was  their  good  fortune  to  be  able  to  measure  their 

44 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

probable  stay  by  decades.  So  exact  was  the  modern 
science  of  Digby's  profession  that  the  success  of  his 
and  Ellerton's  venture  could  be  counted  ahead  in 
dollars  and  almost  in  cents ;  so  much  to  initial  expen 
diture,  so  much  to  his  salary  which  was  to  continue 
at  the  same  figure  which  he  had  lately  received,  so 
much  to  the  overhead  charges,  so  much  to  running 
expenses  based  on  exhaustive  knowledge  of  prices, 
labour  supply  and  transportation  facilities,  so  much 
to  a  sinking  fund  for  the  recovery  of  the  original 
capital  during  a  term  of  years. 

These  were  all  accurate  sums,  fixed  not  immuta 
bly  but  as  firmly  as  the  prescience  of  men  deeply 
acquainted  with  all  existing  conditions  and  probable 
eventualities  could  establish.  An  earthquake  might 
unsettle  them,  or  an  eruption  of  a  near-by  volcano 
or  a  social  upheaval  or  an  assault  by  unlimited  cap 
ital  on  the  mining  titles,  most  fallible  of  all  treaties 
among  individuals.  But  such  events  were  highly 
improbable;  they  constituted  the  unavoidable  un 
known  risk  named  in  ancient  documents  of  the  sea 
under  the  indefinite  terms  of  force  majeure  and  "act 
of  God." 

Earth  tremors  were  known  in  the  vicinity  but  had 
45 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

done  no  damage  in  the  memory  of  man ;  activities  of 
neighbouring  volcanoes  had  left  their  traces  but  they 
were  equally  remote;  for  centuries  the  country  had 
been  a  maelstrom  of  rapine  and  social  disorder,  but 
during  the  score  of  years  preceding  the  reopening  of 
the  Pico  mine  it  had  known  peace  and  exemplary 
security.  As  to  titles,  possession  of  a  mine  differs 
from  almost  every  other  material  tenure ;  its  benefits 
are  strictly  temporary  and  as  a  consequence  the  mere 
continuance  of  a  dispute  favours  the  holder  if  he 
can  support  a  running  fight. 

Against  the  outgoing  sums  falling  upon  the  Pico 
enterprise  was  balanced  the  most  unvarying  of  all 
commodities,  gold,  the  standard  of  the  world's  val 
ues.  Its  existence,  its  proportion  to  the  ton  of  tail 
ings,  the  amount  of  these  tailings  in  sight  and  the 
capacity  for  recovery  of  the  plant  installed  were  all 
facts,  mathematically  established.  They  showed  a 
definite  margin  of  clear  profit  within  wh:~h  two 
men  of  such  exceptional  experience  as  Ellerton  and 
Digby  could  feel  reasonably,  even  exuberantly 
secure. 

In  the  face  of  such  conditions  it  is  lit  lie  wonder 
that  Mary  should  have  taken  time  for  the  purchase 

46 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

of  furniture  piece  by  piece  and  chosen  for  both 
beauty  and  endurance,  or  that  Digby  should  have 
planned  out  the  planting  space  available  with  grave 
deliberation,  picked  out  his  seeds  and  nursery  stock 
after  long  consultations  and  awaited  patiently  their 
arrival,  in  some  cases  long  delayed. 

The  results  of  such  pondered  beginnings  were 
slow  in  development,  they  did  not  assail  the  senses 
with  sudden  breath-taking  transformations,  but 
from  the  day  their  influence  was  felt  it  aspired  stead 
ily  to  the  long,  strong  hold  of  the  fibres  that  grow 
with  and  around  the  heart.  The  children  were  still 
children  when  Mountain  Acre  had  become  a  syno 
nym  for  embowered  peace,  hiding  beneath  succeed 
ing  encrustations  of  foliage,  moss  and  kindly  stain 
ing  lichens  its  sharp  contours,  rough  surfaces  and 
once  naked  estate,  still  tenderly  remembered  at  least 
by  Mary  and  Richard. 

To  Laura,  Richard  Junior  and  in  less  extent  to 
the  baby,  Madeleine,  the  high  pillared  and  trellised 
pergola  that  formed  the  link  between  the  whole 
front  of  the  house  and  the  precipitous  descent  into 
the  valley  had  become  a  balcony  completely  over 
grown  with  sturdy  perennial  vines  by  the  same  slow 

47 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

magic  which  had  brought  strength  unnoticed  to  their 
own  legs. 

Even  the  eldest  of  them  could  scarcely  'remember 
that  the  fronded  garden  had  once  been  bare,  the 
domed  mango  trees  mere  striplings  leaning  on  yard 
sticks  stuck  in  the  ground  for  their  support,  or 
imagine  the  low  red  brick  wall  which  continued  the 
line  of  the  pergola  and  had  guarded  them  from  roll 
ing  to  destruction  in  the  abyss,  stripped  of  its  close- 
trimmed  covering  of  matted  English  ivy.  Yet  each 
and  every  one  of  them  had  been  frequently  spanked 
for  stepping  through  the  thin  line  of  wands  which 
now  formed  a  privet  hedge  four  feet  thick  and  as 
high  as  their  father's  shoulder. 

This  hedge  bounded  the  Acre  on  three  sides,  ris 
ing  to  high  trained  arches  over  the  exit  to  the  path 
leading  from  the  house  around  the  mountain  rib  to 
the  mine  and  over  the  wider  gate  giving  ingress 
from  the  driveway  coming  from  the  highroad.  The 
drive  had  become  a  shady  smooth  delight  of  crushed 
stone,  crowned  and  drained  against  the  rushing  tor 
rents  of  the  rainy  season.  Midway  of  its  length  a 
gully  had  been  graded  and  leveled  to  hold  the  sta 
bles,  chicken-run  and  a  pig-pen. 

48 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

To  the  children  the  hedge  symbolized  control,  the 
barnyard  privilege;  none  could  define  exactly  the 
line  beyond  which  the  freedom  of  the  latter  was  con 
ceded  by  parental  authority  but  generally  speaking 
it  came  to  each  child  at  the  age  when  he  or  she  could 
climb  a  tree  limb  to  the  ridgepole  of  the  stable  and 
slide  off  the  steep  roof  without  breaking  a  leg  or 
an  arm. 

While  the  delights  of  the  barnyard  and  its  en 
virons  maintained  their  supremacy  in  the  affections 
of  the  juveniles  for  many  a  year  they  never  attained 
even  a  transitory  hold  on  the  parents'  hearts  which 
owed  a  fealty  to  Mountain  Acre  proper,  backed  by 
overhanging  cliffs  but  faced  by  a  far  and  broad 
horizon;  an  allegiance  too  deep  and  hidden  for 
words  and  that  could  be  expressed  only  in  such  pre- 
vocal  communions  as  the  pressure  of  a  hand,  a  dim 
ming  of  the  eyes  or  a  sigh  quivering  up  from  the 
depths  of  feeling  and  fluttering  at  its  end  between 
laughter  and  a  sob. 

On  a  night  when  moonlight  surged  its  overflowing 
flood  to  the  farthermost  limits  of  the  golden  valley, 
tagged  hill  and  castled  crag  with  spilled  blots  of 
shadow  and  held  the  high  snows  of  Popo  in  ghostly 

49 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

suspension,  pale,  paper-white,  unreal  as  though 
threatened  with  annihilation  by  any  vagrant  gust  of 
air,  Digby  sat  with  his  wife  at  the  gallery's  edge, 
his  arms  resting  on  the  balustrade  of  masonry  as 
if  he  needed  its  solidity  as  an  anchor  to  his  far-flung 
eyes.  So  long  did  he  hold  them  to  the  engulfing 
scene  that  Mary,  contrary  to  usage,  grew  restless  of 
the  silence. 

"Dick,"  she  said,  touching  his  shoulder,  "what  is 
it?  I  see  the  beauty,  dear;  as  Rox  said  the  other 
night,  it  squeezes  tears  from  the  heart.  But  it  isn't 
that  that  has  gripped  you." 

"No,"  said  Digby,  sinking  back  in  his  seat,  "you're 
right;  there's  beauty  there,  unlimited  charm,  and 
because  it  seems  to  have  no  end  it  bears  a  message 
still  unread.  That's  what  worries  me,  Polly.  I've 
got  to  read  it.  I  never  was  good  at  waiting  for 
revelations." 

"Oh,  Dick,  you  analyst!"  cried  Mary,  springing 
up  and  rumpling  his  thick  dark  hair,  "can't  you  spare 
even  our  wonder  valley  ?  Leave  it  its  mystery,  dear. 
Come  into  the  house  and  let  me  play  for  you." 

But  not  always  did  the  trellised  balcony  harbour 
such  overcharged  moments ;  it  was  the  constant  scene 

50 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

of  many  an  evening  romp  and  still  oftener  the  coign 
from -which  three  children  caught  glimmering  flashes 
of  worlds  real  and  unreal  through  their  father's 
eyes  and  lips.  He  was  a  great  man  for  youngsters. 
Thrown  directly  from  college  into  the  hard  school 
of  the  field  engineer,  cut  off  from  clubs,  reunions 
and  the  froth  of  social  amenities,  subjected  to  hard 
journeys,  privations  and  frequent  lonely  hours,  he 
had  early  acquired  an  avid  appetite  for  the  simple 
and  basic  elements  of  old-fashioned  homecoming. 

Fortune  had  mightily  favoured  him  in  the  pe 
culiar  qualities  of  the  woman  he  married.  He  had 
not  picked  her  up  in  any  byway  of  adventure,  but 
grew  up  with  her  in  one  of  those  boy  and  girl  friend 
ships  which  trend  tacitly  and  shyly  toward  ulti 
mate  possession  and  are  built  on  a  mutual  faith 
which  by  reason  of  its  very  strength,  once  broken 
knows  no  mending.  Mary  was  of  that  New  Eng 
land  stock  the  surface  pruderies  of  which  have  so 
filled  the  eye  of  the  world  that  it  has  been  blinded 
to  far  more  significant  qualities ;  passions  held  in  re 
serve  like  banked  and  undying  fires,  self-imposed 
prohibitions  carried  to  an  extreme  which  leaves  no 
middle  ground  between  virtue  and  total  destruction. 

51 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

She  was  paradoxically  violent  in  slow  decisions 
which,  once  arrived  at,  became  as  immutable  as  the 
span  of  life.  Such  women  can  be  held;  they  can 
never  be  retaken. 

Ever  since  he  could  remember  Digby  had  been 
subconsciously  aware  of  this  fundamental  limita 
tion  and  he  was  absolutely  content  within  its  bounds. 
Let  others  yield  to  the  moral  vagaries  of  his  gen 
eration  which  first  found  itself  cut  adrift  from  the 
anchor  of  religion  accepted  in  all  its  tenets  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course  and  turned,  bored,  from  faith  torn  to 
bits  in  the  field  of  controversy  to  indifference  and 
then  to  laxity;  he  and  Mary  would  walk  the  old 
path,  narrowed  not  by  bigoted  prejudice  but  by  the 
inhibitions  which  were  the  fibre  of  their  dual  being. 
In  an  age  distracted  by  divorce,  the  single  standard 
and  allied  subjects  of  promiscuous  sex  as  the  un 
charted  channels  of  daily  thought,  these  two  were 
steadfast  not  through  piety  but  because  loyalty  was 
the  keystone  of  the  arch  of  life. 

The  family  thus  escaped  the  atmosphere  of  social 
problems  and  had  leisure  for  the  habit  of  happiness  ; 
a  bald  and  bold  statement  of  which  the  far-reaching 

52 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

implications  are  difficult  of  prompt  assimilation.  The 
influence  of  this  negative  ambient,  however,  laid  its 
living  touch  on  Digby's  inner  growth.  In  any  other 
air  he  might  easily  have  continued  in  the  standard 
ized  category  of  an  American  of  his  class,  absorbed 
in  considerations  of  income  and  expenditure  as  the 
skeleton  art  of  living.  But  fortune  having  led  his 
feet  into  unusual  ways  without  wrenching  them 
from  the  traditional  path  of  personal  honour,  he 
was  gradually  attaining  a  broad  foundation  of  mind, 
an  evenness  of  temperament  and  a  contemplative 
brooding  over  simple  verities  which  made  him  an 
ever-deepening  well  of  philosophic  conviction. 

What  man  has  not  dreamed  of  this  estate  and 
finding  himself  rocked  in  its  transitory  cradle  fol 
lowed  that  hope  which  springs  eternal  in  the  human 
breast  and  aspired  to  the  high  permanence  of  the 
still  stars  in  an  infinite  firmament?  Digby  asked 
no  more  of  heaven  than  what  he  now  possessed.  To 
be  for  an  hour  of  each  evening  with  his  children  on 
the  cool  tiled  gallery  after  the  strain  of  the  noisy 
day's  hard  work  and  have  his  wife's  playing,  half 
muted  by  intervening  walls,  weave  its  undertone  to 

53 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

a  share  in  their  intercourse  was  to  him  the  full  fruit 
of  bliss,  too  sound  in  flavour  ever  to  pall  upon  the 
palate. 

On  one  such  evening  he  beheld  the  size,  studied 
the  propensities  and  speculated  on  the  potentialities 
of  his  three  youngsters  with  a  feeling  of  sudden 
awe.  Whence  had  they  come,  how  attained  to  their 
astounding  weight  and  firmness  and  whither  were 
they  bound?  Already  he  could  see  in  each  a  ma 
terialization  which  cut  them  off  from  that  elfland 
which  is  the  peculiar  realm  of  little  children,  wherein 
we  see  them  as  actually  allied  to  fairy  folk  and 
poising,  breathless  and  half-winged  at  the  thrill  of 
a  sound  first  heard,  a  taste  new  to  the  greedy  tongue, 
a  wonder  fresh  to  curious  and  ludicrously  sober 
eyes. 

Laura,  his  first-born,  was  a  pale  slip  of  a  maid 
apparently  frail  but  guarding  within  the  transpar 
ency  of  her  delicate  flesh  the  steady  flame  of  an  un 
conquerable  spirit.  She  was  on  the  verge  of  trans 
ition,  standing  on  the  threshold  of  those  mysteries 
revealed  which  bring  swift  age  to  girlhood  and 
chain  body  inexorably  to  mind,  but  Digby  knew  in 
stinctively  that  for  her  he  need  feel  no  fear.  She 

54 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

was  of  the  flowers  of  God's  earth,  destined  to  bloom 
serene  above  the  mired  exigencies  of  life  linked  to 
knowledge. 

Richard,  Jr.,  commonly  known  as  Junior,  was 
of  different  stuff.  His  close-knit  body  had  an  affin 
ity  for  rawhide  which  led  him  to  select  a  thrashing 
every  time  he  was  given  the  choice  between  physical 
chastisement  and  going  without  his  supper.  The 
event  was  of  frequent  occurrence,  for  he  was  pos 
sessed  of  an  investigating  mind  which  led  him  into 
filth,  destruction  and  occasionally  personal  danger. 
Had  his  father  been  of  those  parents  who  punish 
their  children  in  the  white  heat  of  anger,  substi 
tuting  malignancy  -for  calm  judicial  execution,  the 
boy's  fibre  inevitably  would  have  been  twisted  from 
straight  growth,  perhaps  broken.  But  between 
these  two,  father  and  son,  there  seemed  to  exist  a 
mutual  understanding  as  to  the  fitness  of  the  ancient 
custom  of  corporal  punishment  and  a  disinterested 
agreement  in  the  method  of  the  rite. 

To-night,  with  his  eyes  full  of  the  awkward  lanki- 
ness  of  Junior's  twelve  years,  Digby  looked  back 
half  their  span  in  memory  to  the  day  when  he  had 
first  discovered  his  son  as  a  distinct  personality.  He 

55 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

had  just  administered  a  thorough  strapping  and 
was  amazed  to  see  a  dreamy  smile  of  attenuated  an 
ticipation  creep  through  the  grime  on  the  boy's  tear- 
stained  face.  He  took  him  by  the  elbows  and 
smiled  an  answer  to  that  look. 

''Tell  me  what  you're  thinking,  Junior,"  he 
begged. 

The  boy  gave  him  a  roguish  glance  and  a  reply 
that  by  reason  of  its  sheer  precocious  recognition  of 
changing  values  established  him  once  and  for  all  in 
his  father's  respectful  regard. 

"I  was  thinkin',"  he  said,  "that  some  day  I  c'n 
lick  you." 

"Whenever  you  feel  that  the  time  has  come,  boy," 
replied  Digby  when  he  had  recovered  his  poise,  "go 
right  ahead." 

Whereupon  Junior  had  turned  his  round,  sober 
eyes  to  a  careful  inspection  of  his  father's  six  feet 
of  hardened  brawn,  nodded  his  head  solemnly  and 
muttered,  "Aw  right." 

From  such  dawning  moments  of  flashing  intelli 
gence,  gleamings  of  nascent  will  and  births  of  the 
indomitable  spirit  of  a  conscious  individuality  as 
piring  to  stand  alone,  spring  the  sources  of  undying 

56 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

affection.  Digby,  moist-eyed,  turned  rather  hastily 
from  the  contemplation  of  his  son  to  seek  distraction 
in  the  young  lady  who  sat  restlessly  upon  his  knee. 

Here  was  a  problem,  a  sum  in  all  the  dimensions 
of  arithmetic  that  changed  its  terms  just  a  little 
faster  than  one  could  figure  out  the  answer.  Made 
leine  spent  the  long  hours  of  the  short  days  of 
childhood  in  running  the  gamut  of  all  the  adjectives 
embraced  by  the  lexicon  of  deportment  and  interior 
fittings ;  she  was  wilful  and  winsome,  fair  to  behold 
but  often  ugly  as  to  both  appearance  and  temper, 
she  condescended  to  authority,  smiled  with  the  wis 
dom  of  the  serpent  at  blandishments,  flirted  deli 
cately  with  man,  rosebush  or  a  brick  wall  and  occa 
sionally  transformed  her  small  body  into  a  reservoir 
of  rage  and  tears  which  threatened  to  burst  its  over 
strained  retaining  walls.  She,  too,  had  already 
pricked  her  tiny  fingers  on  the  thorns  of  reality. 
Digby  loved  her  with  an  abandonment,  an  unreason 
ing  and  completely  surrendered  affection  such  as 
man  lays  only  at  the  feet  of  those  qualities  of  mys 
tery  in  woman  which  are  eternal,  knowing  not  age 
nor  the  divisions  of  birth  and  death. 

To  her  surprising  bodily   strength   and   mental 
57 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

hunger  fear  was  absolutely  incomprehensible,  a 
realization  that  had  caused  her  father  more  anxiety 
than  the  combined  exploring  activities  of  the  two 
other  children.  He  had  been  afraid  for  her  and 
had  spent  patient  hours  in  trying  to  bring  her  to 
an  appreciation  of  what  would  result  should  she 
tumble  from  the  coping  that  divided  Mountain 
Acre  from  the  valley  below.  By  endless  repetition 
while  holding  her  in  the  crook  of  his  arm  above 
the  abyss  he  taught  her  the  old  nursery  rhyme: 

"Humpty  Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall, 
Humpty  Dumpty  had  a  great  fall ; 
Not  all  the  king's  horses,  nor  all  the  king's  men, 
Could  put  Humpty  Dumpty  together  again !" 

But  it  was  not  until  he  secured  an  egg,  stood  it 
by  the  Columbus  method  on  the  inner  edge  of  the 
balustrade,  tipped  it  off  to  smash  on  the  tiled  floor 
of  the  gallery,  pointed  at  the  resulting  mess  and 
called  it  Madeleine,  that  her  mildly  interested  eyes 
widened  in  sudden  horror  and  overflowed  with  a 
gush  of  self -pity  ing  and  rebellious  tears. 

"Not  Maddie!"  she  screamed,  clutched  his  trous 
ers  at  the  knees,  buried  her  face  against  his  legs 

58 


and  jumped  her  nether  portion  up  and  down  in  an 
ideal  position  for  spanking. 

He  had  snatched  her  up,  held  her  quivering  body 
close  and  murmured  with  a  comforting  but  self-ad 
dressed  intensity,  "No,  not  Madeleine!  Never 
Madeleine,  so  held  me  God." 

These  memories  flashed  through  Digby's  mind 
in  a  fraction  of  the  time  it  has  taken  to  relate  them; 
he  returned  now  to  the  thought  from  which  they 
had  made  their  original  departure,  the  sensing  of  the 
intrusion  of  reality  between  childhood  and  youth. 

"Come  here,  you  children,"  he  called  in  a  stage 
whisper. 

Immediately  Madeleine's  fidgeting  ceased,  her 
body  grew  tense,  her  eyes  concentrated  on  things 
about  to  be  even  though  unseen  and  her  lips  half 
opened  to  the  best  disposal  for  silent  breathing  under 
stress.  Laura  and  Junior  drew  their  chairs  near. 
Elbows  on  knees,  chins  cupped  in  hands,  they  en 
tered  the  circle  of  conspiratory  heads,  their  faces 
joining  in  an  intentional  withdrawal  which  wiped 
years  away  and  left  father,  son,  elder  and  younger 
daughter  in  a  single  ageless  category. 

59 


"Never  forget  old  friends,"  whispered  Digby.  "I 
used  to  know  a  girl  named  Laura  and  a  boy  called 
Junior  and  a  baby  with  the  longest  name  in  the 
world,  Maddie-Madcap-Madeleine.  One  day  I  saw 
the  three  of  them  climbing  a  fence  on  the  top  of  a 
hill.  I  stopped  to  light  my  pipe  and  when  I  looked 
up  again  they  were  gone.  Tooh!'  I  said,  'that's 
easy.  I'll  climb  the  hill  to  find  them.'  I  did  and 
when  I  got  there  there  wasn't  any  hill,  no  fence  and 
not  a  child  in  sight." 

He  paused  to  let  this  surprising  information  sink 
in.  "You  can  imagine,"  he  continued,  "that  I  was 
annoyed.  Things  like  that  are  not  supposed  to  hap 
pen  to  people  who  are  thoroughly  grown  up;  they 
make  them  ridiculous  and  impatient  at  the  absurdity 
of  seeing  what  isn't  and  realizing  that  if  they  really 
do  see  it,  why  it  doesn't  do  any  good  to  know  that  it 
isn't  because  it's  just  the  same  as  if  it  was.  In  addi 
tion  to  being  put  out  at  myself  I  was  worried.  I 
couldn't  afford  to  lose  those  children.  There  are 
plenty  more  in  the  world,  but  they  aren't  so  easy 
to  get  as  you  might  think  because  you  have  to  buy 
a  child  every  day  for  ten  years  before  you  own  it. 

"I  looked  everywhere  I  could  think  of,  finally 
60 


gave  it  up  and  came  back  here  to  the  garden  at 
Mountain  Acre  and  started  walking1  in  circles  like 
a  yellow  dog  about  to  lie  down.  Just  as  I  was  really 
and  truly  going  to  give  it  up  I  heard  a  voice  as  thin 
as  one  string  of  a  spider's  web  say  quite  distinctly, 
'Never  forget  old  friends.' 

"  'Where,  what  and  who  are  you  ?'  I  asked,  my 
hair  standing  on  end. 

"  'Don't  be  alarmed,  Richard,  Sr.,'  said  the  voice, 
'I'm  just  your  old  friend,  the  rose  janitress.' 

"I  was  standing  over  there  by  the  gate  under  the 
Etoile  de  France  and  when  I  turned  I  found  a  great 
red  rose  just  under  my  nose ;  the  voice  was  coming 
from  the  center  of  one  of  its  petals.  I  stared  and 
stared  at  the  spot  but  I  couldn't  see  anything  for 
tobacco  smoke  until  the  voice  asked,  'Can't  you  re 
member  the  rose  janitress?' 

"Then  I  realized  that  it  wasn't  smoke  that  blinded 
me,  but  the  mist  of  years,  so  I  blew  it  away  and 
there  I  saw  her  just  as  she  used  to  be.  From  the 
tips  of  her  toes  to  the  crown  on  her  head  she  was 
no  bigger  than  nothing  at  all;  an  ant  could  have 
stood  over  her  without  mussing  her  hair.  Her 
bodice  was  cut  disgracefully  low;  around  her  waist 

61 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

she  had  wrapped  a  caterpillar's  eyelash  three  times 
and  tied  it  in  a  bow  knot;  below  that  stood  out 
fluffy  skirts  like  the  tiniest  granddaughter  of  a 
peony  upside  down  and  under  them  were  two  per 
fectly  straight  and  adorable  legs  with  a  dimple  on 
each  knee.  You  would  never  have  taken  her  for!  a 
janitress  if  she  hadn't  carried  a  mop. 

"  'Her  "cheeks  were  pink,  her  lips  were  red, 
Her  eyes  as  big  as  twice  her  head.' 

"Extraordinarily  bright,  too,"  he  added  to  the 
doggerel,  "but  that  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  when 
you  consider  that  those  eyes  were  the  buckets  into 
which  she  squeezed  the  dew  that  it  was  her  business 
to  mop  up  every  morning  early.  My  sight  grew 
dearer  and  clearer  and  presently,  all  over  the  gar 
den,  wherever  a  drop  of  dew  was  left  on  a  petal,  I 
saw  them  at  work,  lily  washladies,  grassflower  laun 
dresses,  honeysuckle  bees-of-all-work  and  bachelor- 
button  and  sweet-william  men-servants.  When  these 
last  saw  that  I  saw  them  they  yelled  in  a  chorus, 
'Hallo,  old  scout  I  Where  you  been?' 

"  'Now  look  up  on  the  hill/  whispered  the  rose 
janitress. 

62 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"I  did.  There  was  the  hill,  there  was  the  fence 
with  Junior,  Laura  and  Madeleine  climbing  back 
over  it  and  coming  for  me  as  tight  as  they  could 
run. 

"  'If  you  don't  want  to  lose  your  children,'  whis 
pered  the  rose  janitress  hurriedly,  'and  if  they  don't 
want  to  lose  themselves,  don't  any  of  you  ever  dare 
forget  old  friends,  least  of  all  the  Little  Folk.  Make 
fun  of  us  if  you  like,  don't  believe  in  us  if  you 
can't,  but  if  you're  afraid  of  the  dark  you'd  better 
keep  us  handy  for  we  are  the  light  that  shines  on 
yesterday.' " 


"Set  me  a  riddle,  O,  my  son,  for  1  am  weary  of  the 
knowledge  of  all  things." 

"Where  dwells  the  sky  without  a  cloud?' 

"Child,  the  world  is  round,  the  sky's  about  it;  thy 
cloudless  heaven  is  in  the  little  eye  of  a  man's  head" 


CHAPTER  III 

SUCH  hours,  in  the  meagre  proportion  of  one 
in  every  twenty-four,  were  merely  the  gossa 
mer  bloom  on  the  heavy  warp  and  woof  of  Digby's 
daily  existence.  He  was  a  worker  ravenous  of 
accomplishment;  his  far-sighted  eyes  beheld  the 
Pico  mine  as  a  pilgrimage  stretching  out  into  the 
years,  but  not  as  a  non-stop  journey  along  a  lane 
without  a  turning.  All  its  stages  were  clearly  de 
fined  in  his  mind  from  the  initial  crude  departure  of 
material  installation  and  the  rush  to  handle  ore  in 
paying  quantities  to  the  time  of  first  approximate 
leisure  to  be  harnessed  promptly  to  chemical  analyses 
and  experiment.  That  field  in  itself  is  without  end, 
but  it  did  not  limit  his  vision  which  was  fixed  beyond 
on  an  ultimate  dream  of  levels  too  deep  for  profit 
to-day,  but  which  must  inevitably  creep  up  to  the 
reaching  hand  of  delving  science. 

It  gave  him  a  sense  of  sharing  in  omnipotence  to 
gaze  upon  the  mounds  of  tailings  abandoned  by  the 
experts  of  another  generation  and  to  feel  that  he 

65 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

could  summon  all  its  progeny  who  flocked  to  tHe 
welcome  wages  he  proffered,  assure  them  of  the 
presence  of  gold  in  plenteous  though  undazzling 
quantity,  give  it  to  them  in  illusive  fee-simple  and 
yet  leave  them  destitute,  famine-stricken,  by  his  sin 
gle  withdrawal.  Pay  from  such  leadership  became 
more  truly  largess  than  from  any  purely  industrial 
manufactory  however  hedged  its  appliances  by  pat 
ented  genius  and  mechanical  intricacy. 

The  peons  who  thronged  to  the  standard  of  vol 
untary  labour  which  he  had  raised  on  the  barren 
mountainside  were  alternately  the  bane  of  his  hun 
ger  for  achievement  and  the  object  of  a  social-philo 
sophic  questing  that  was  gradually  becoming  his 
medium  of  relaxation  to  the  wonder  and  amusement 
of  his  wife,  Mary.  Lucent-orbed,  dark-skinned, 
black-haired,  soft-footed  and  as  slow  as  a  deep,  slug 
gish  stream,  they  flowed  before  him  like  a  river 
weary  from  long  travel  and  brooding  lazily  in  its 
murky  depths  over  the  possibilities  of  a  flood  to 
hurry  it  along.  No  people  as  a  class  could  be  more 
gentle,  more  absorbed  in  momentary  well-being,  ap 
parently  more  content  with  minimum  benefits ;  and 
while  Digby  like  all  active  men  accepted  the  present 

66 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

at  its  face  value  he  was  not  ignorant  of  the  past 
nor  incapable  of  making  deductions  from  deliberate 
retrospection  when  time  and  the  inclination  syn 
chronized. 

He  knew  these  men;  a  single  glance  was  enough 
to  enable  him  to  segregate  pure  Indian  from  mestizo, 
mestizo  from  impoverished  Latin  white-trash.  The 
Indian  stock  was  in  an  overwhelming  majority  and 
unmistakable  not  only  by  reason  of  its  unvarying 
black  eyes  and  blacker  hair,  coarse,  straight  and 
heavy  as  a  horse's  mane,  but  also  because  it  carried 
in  its  composite  countenance  a  look  that  was  the 
equal  inheritance  of  age-long  subjugation  and  fre 
quent  revolt,  the  faintly  smouldering  expression  of 
all  oppressed  peoples,  the  unbroken  continuity  of 
which  alone  dignifies  them  above  thoroughly  domes 
ticated  animals. 

Against  this  sombre  background  the  mestizos 
showed  like  gnarls  in  a  rough  but  even  web.  The 
alien  blood  in  their  veins  whether  descended  from 
black  or  white  tended  to  dull  their  features  while 
it  sharpened  their  wits.  Their  hair  was  drabbed 
and  twisted,  their  skin  lacked  the  thick  smoothness 
and  their  cheeks  the  almost  universal  roundness  and 

67 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

smothered  red  glow  from  deep  beneath  the  surface 
which  distinguished  the  pure  native.  Their  eyes, 
subject  to  emotional  flashes  of  astonishing  intensity, 
never  attained  to  the  fixed,  impenetrable  blackness 
of  cut  jet.  Digby  could  make  a  surprisingly  expert 
mechanic  of  any  one  of  them  in  six  weeks  j  in  six 
years  none  of  them  could  win  his  trust 

Their  proportion  to  the  mass  of  labour  he  em 
ployed  was  small  but  still  outnumbered  by  twenty 
to  one  the  few  pure  whites  who  had  drifted  to  the 
new  camp  which  demanded  no  references  beyond 
arms  and  legs  sound  enough  for  the  day's  work,  and 
as  is  the  way  of  pioneering  enterprise  blindly  asked 
no  questions  of  past  or  future.  Such  whites,  not 
to  be  confused  with  certain  imported  foremen  and 
a  group  of  native  professional  miners,  were  to  him 
the  lowest  of  all  his  workmen  in  the  scale  of  dignity. 
They  were  degenerates,  scobs  pared  from  the  hard 
timber  of  centuries  of  dominance,  weaklings  cast 
off  from  the  warring  factions  of  an  iron  class  which 
for  generations  had  climbed  to  power  on  the  backs 
of  peons  perennially  deluded  to  revolt  only  to  be 
despoiled  with  a  wearying  redundancy  of  fate. 

These  outcasts  gleamed  here  and  there  like  dying 
68 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

sparks  from  which  fire  would  not  deign  to  spring. 
They  showed  a  cheap  vivacity,  a  willingness  to  trade 
on  their  degradation,  an  aptitude  for  pander  and 
lor  bullying  not  by  strength  but  through  tradition; 
even  their  swashbuckling  turned  quickly  to  cringing 
weakness  at  a  frown.  "Hawks,  wing-clipped," 
thought  Digby,  "and  soiling  their  claws  with  car 
rion."  Thin-faced  and  sallow,  shifty-eyed,  nervous, 
impressionable,  they  were  the  first  to  respond  to  an 
appeal  for  effort  and  the  first,  by  much,  to  drop 
the  sudden  load. 

From  such  a  racial  conglomeration  Digby  welded 
the  manual  organization  with  which  to  build  his  su 
perstructure  of  inanimate  appliances;  derricks,  an-' 
chorages,  head-gears,  concrete  foundations,  mill 
sheds,  process  tanks  and  the  vault-like  zinc-room,' 
all  rough,  ponderous  and  strictly  utilitarian,  allied  to 
the  mountain  almost  as  intimately  as  its  gray  ribs 
of  rock  and  seeming  to  stand  aloof  from  the  con 
genital  instability  of  their  actual  creators.  Under 
his  scheme  the  mass  of  workmen  fell  into  natural 
divisions:  the  out  and  out  peons  stood  for  brute 
weight,  burden  bearers,  hod-carriers,  pick  and  shovel 
graders;  the  mestizos  for  improvised  masons,  me- 

69 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

chanics  and  blasters;  the  white-trash  for  gossipers, 
tale-bearers  concious  of  the  value  of  their  secret 
wares  in  an  industry  which  has  never  yet  attained 
to  victory  over  dull  wits  intent  on  pilfering.  Stand 
ing  quite  apart  was  the  small  group  of  professional 
jniners  from  the  north  marked  by  a  traditional  in 
dependence. 

There  is  a  blessed  fever  which  assails  all  men, 
even  habitual  laggards,  at  the  initiation  of  any  vis 
ibly  growing  material  project,  inciting  them  to  a 
^peculiar  curiosity  that  demands  certain  stages  of 
achievement  for  its  satisfaction.  Digby  constantly 
played  on  this  useful  human  failing  throughout  the 
constructive  period,  assigning  set  jobs  to  various 
gangs  and  deliberately  spreading  the  impression  that 
upon  the  culmination  of  all  these  tasks  hung  the 
inauguration  of  the  aerial  ropeway.  Even  as  far 
back  as  his  consultations  with  Ellerton  on  equipment 
he  had  instinctively  seen  in  this  feature  a  trump  card 
which  would  appeal  unfailingly  to  the  imaginative 
and  lazy  and  had  stood  out  for  the  more  expensive 
installation  of  two  fixed  wire  cables  and  an  endless 
hauling  rope  as  against  a  single-line  shoot. 

"I  don't  see  it,"  Ellerton  had  objected,  "not  at 
the  price." 

70 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Well,  I  do,"  Digby  had  insisted,  "and  I'll  show 
you.  We'll  have  a  carrying  capacity  of  ten  tons 
against  three,  we'll  cut  our  power  bill  by  balancing 
down  loads  against  the  up  and  we'll  start  work  on 
time  when  we  get  the  thing  going  by  making  the 
town  men  who  miss  the  five  o'clock  skip  climb  the 
hill.  Last  and  first,  it  will  be  a  bunch  of  fresh-mown 
hay  for  me  to  dangle  before  the  donkey  noses  of 
the  construction  gangs.  Have  you  forgotten  the 
power  for  good  of  a  new  toy?" 

"You  win  four  times  over,"  Ellerton  had  agreed 
with  a  laugh  and  as  the  work  progressed  his  acqui 
escence  was  fully  justified.  The  completion  of  the 
ropeway,  cleverly  manipulated  by  Digby  to  depend 
on  the  more  or  less  simultaneous  termination  of 
half  a  dozen  tasks  of  far  greater  importance,  be 
came  to  the  men  an  outstanding  landmark  of  ac 
complishment  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  intrinsic 
and  comparative  value.  The  gang  with  the  best 
record  was  to  have  the  first  ride. 

After  five  years  Digby  could  look  back  on  those 
months  of  sheer  toil  with  deep  satisfaction  and  a 
sense  of  wonder  at  what  now  seemed  prodigies  of 
success  in  distilling  a  mild  essence  of  enthusiasm  for 
(work  out  of  a  mass  that  had  since  gone  sour  and 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

settled  down  to  a  sodden  level  of  minimum  exertion 
which  still  was  sufficient,  however,  to  produce  an 
even  and  reasonable  flow  of  results. 

In  judging  others  he  did  not  spare  himself ;  rou 
tine  had  him  also  in  its  clutch,  but  as  he  went  his 
daily  systematic  rounds  he  was  conscious  of  regret 
for  that  hard  time  of  happy  fever  which  had  made 
his  present  road  so  easy.  Passing  one  morning  from 
the  wicket  gate  within  the  arch  of  the  privet  hedge 
which  opened  on  the  beaten,  unadorned  path  to  the 
mine,  he  stopped  as  he  turned  the  sharp  corner  of 
the  mountain  buttress  at  a  point  from  which  he 
could  view  the  plant  whose  construction  had  led 
through  eager  turmoil  to  a  smooth  and  slumberous 
security. 

Well  above  the  level  of  his  eyes  rose  the  hoisting 
plant  and  the  clumsily  constructed  landing-stage 
sticking  out  like  an  eyebrow  from  the  edge  of  the 
hill  and  which  with  staccato  rumblings  and  rhythmi 
cal  puffs  of  dust  was  feeding  ore  from  the  bins  be 
neath  it  into  the  skips.  A  man  stood  on  a  small 
platform  lazily  releasing  the  chute-door  with  a  lever 
as  the  buckets  swung  into  place;  other  men  could 
be  seen  moving  slowly  about,  digging,  disappearing 

72 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

into  tunnels,  reappearing  behind  truck  barrows,  at 
taching  them  to  an  endless  rope  and  languidly 
watching  them  run  down  the  Decauville  railway  to 
the  landing-stage,  strike  the  tipple  and  dump  their 
loads. 

The  big  iron  buckets  dangled  in  a  widely  spaced 
string  down  the  steep  mountainside  and  led  his 
eyes  to  the  main  plant  looking  absurdly  minute  at 
the  foot  of  the  ropeway  where  the  incessant  muffled 
roar  of  the  stamps  made  a  steady  underlay  of  sound, 
a  pool  of  commotion,  in  the  vast  silence  of  the  open 
spaces  visible  from  his  point  of  vantage.  He  sighed 
as  he  remembered  the  exigencies  arising  from  the 
smallness  of  capital  which  had  forced  the  placing 
Of  the  mill  at  the  base  of  the  main  slope  and  beyond 
a  gully  which  had  made  a  wooden  chute  impracti 
cable.  Both  he  and  Ellerton  would  have  liked  to 
have  had  it  at  the  mine's  door  but  that  would  have 
entailed  the  overcoming  of  tremendous  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  transportation  of  heavy  pieces  and 
great  expense  in  blasting  and  leveling. 

"It  couldn't  be  helped,"  he  murmured  to  himself 
as  he  started  on  toward  the  landing-stage,  but  his 
(eyes  glowed  with  vision  of  what  might  soon  be.  The 

73 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Pico  mine,  in  a  modest  way,  had  made  good;  it 
had  been  a  paying  concern  from  the  first  month  of 
operation.  The  outside  capital  which  had  originally 
come  in  purely  by  faith  and  on  the  strength  of  the 
reputation  of  the  two  partners  had  gained  confidence 
and  was  ready  to  contribute  to  a  wider  development. 
Even  now  Digby  was  engaged  in  making  soundings, 
clearing  old  tunnels,  exploring  pinched-out  reefs 
and  testing  his  results.  He  was  not  in  a  hurry ;  all 
was  going  well  and  he  could  give  months  to  making 
sure  and  never  regret  the  time  thus  spent. 

He  arrived  at  the  landing-stage,  swung  himself 
into  an  empty  skip  and  leaning  from  its  edge  to  avoid 
cable  and  hauling  rope,  stood  with  head  uptilted  to 
drink  in  the  never-palling  view  of  the  golden  valley 
Avhich  stretched  away  to  the  left.  Absorbed  in  that 
distant  prospect,  the  foothills  seemed  to  rise  toward 
him  rather  than  he  descend  to  them,  finally  usurping 
his  attention;  for  no  sooner  did  he  arrive  at  the 
foot  of  the  ropeway  than  he  felt  suddenly  dimin 
ished;  foothills  became  mountains  and  the  mill  a 
roaring  giant  fed  by  the  sweating  labours  of  pygmy 
men. 

He  passed  through  every  division  of  the  plant, 
74 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

looked  into  the  power  room,  watched  the  crushers 
at  work,  studied  their  feed  into  the  ore  bins  and 
from  there  to  the  feeder  tables  and  finally  to  the 
stamps,  hung  over  the  swirling  process  vats  and 
talked  with  foremen,  mechanics  and  an  occasional 
labourer  in  whom  some  gleam  of  intelligence  above 
the  low  average  had  awakened  speculation  as  to  his 
possibilities.  As  he  crossed  the  frail  bridge  to  the 
long  zinc-room  which  in  contrast  to  all  surrounding 
structures  was  built  of  solid  masonry  and  had  its 
small  windows  stoutly  barred,  his  eyes  fell  on  a  mes 
tizo,  Pablo  by  name,  who  with  a  helper  was  squatted 
under  the  shadow  of  the  mill  in  the  midst  of  a  snake- 
like  swirl  of  wire  cables.  He  stopped  to  watch 
him,  caught  his  eye  and  raised  a  hand  in  a  wave  of 
friendly  greeting ;  Pablo  nodded  but  did  not  release 
his  grip  on  rope  and  marlin  spike. 

All  these  men  were  underpaid,  Pablo  more  so  than 
any  other;  Digby  knew  it  He  was  no  altruist  to 
the  point  of  self-destruction,  but  he  was  a  fair  man 
willing  to  reap  only  where  he  had  sowed  In  his 
heart  of  hearts  he  would  have  been  glad  to  raise  his 
entire  wage-scale  had  he  not  been  deterred  by  that 
sixth  sense  which  -comes  to  practical  men  who  have 

75 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

learned  a  local  and  alien  psychology  not  by  scholas 
tic  reasoning  but  through  a  series  of  very  real  and 
rude  awakenings. 

Theoretically  he  should  have  said  to  Pablo,  "There 
is  no  camp  in  the  world  where  you  are  not  worth  ten 
dollars  a  day  so  I  am  going  to  pay  it  to  you  here." 
Had  he  done  so  he  would  soon  have  lost  the  only 
wire-rope  splicer  in  a  vast  region,  added  one  to  the 
corps  of  town  drunkards  and  planted  active  misery 
in  a  humble  home  now  slumbering  on  the  edge  of 
but  beyond  the  borders  of  actual  discontent.  So 
with  the  rest  of  the  skilled  men  who  received  re 
muneration  in  excess  of  the  common  horde  but  still 
far  below  their  worth;  he  did  not  speculate  as  to 
why  he  could  not  better  their  lot  spontaneously,  he 
only  knew  it,  felt  it  by  acquired  instinct. 

Unbeknown  to  himself  he  was  even  at  that  day 
face  to  face  with  an  unseen  truth,  the  fact  that  man's 
relation  to  benefits  is  not  that  of  a  sponge  to  water 
but  one  of  wearying  evolution,  of  attainment  meas 
ured  by  his  power  of  assimilation,  of  perception  of 
injustice  and  of  battle  for  satisfaction  which  must 
yet  stop  just  short  of  destruction  of  the  sources  of 

76 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

welfare  or  defeat  its  own  end.  The  fate  of  a  man 
manacled  by  ignorance  and  the  inhibitions  of  ar 
rested  development  from  whatever  cause  thrown  into 
a  sea  of  gold  and  of  a  cat  in  a  weighted  bag  plunged 
into  a  hogshead  of  water  have  ever  been  one  and  the 
same ;  they  will  both  drown. 

Digby's  conscience  was  alive  to  a  sense  of  wrong 
but  not  to  one  of  wrong-doing;  it  was  not  uneasy, 
largely  because  the  value  of  these  men  above  their 
fellows  was  in  great  part  of  his  own  creation.  In 
that  day,  so  briefly  removed  in  point  of  years  from 
present  times,  gratitude  still  entered  into  calcula 
tions  of  justice  and  an  individual's  immediate  estate, 
irrespective  of  class-consciousness,  was  not  assumed 
to  be  divorced  from  its  past  in  every  calculation  of 
increasing  demands. 

As  a  result  it  took  the  cockles  from  Digby's  heart 
to  watch  Pablo  and  let  his  own  mind  run  to  further 
recollections  of  those  first  days  when  he  had  picked 
his  material  as  one  would  sort  likely  colts  from  a 
herd  and  himself  broken  it  to  this  and  that  mechani 
cal  need.  He  had  aspired  to  omniscience  and  if  by 
chance  some  mechanism  threatened  to  stump  his  pre- 
77 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

eminence  he  had  gladly  sat  up  a  night  with  cat 
alogues,  specifications  and  directions  like  a  teacher 
put  to  it  to  keep  ahead  of  his  class. 

Pablo's  was  more  than  a  case  in  point;  it  went 
beyond  the  reach  of  book-learning  into  a  combined 
realm  of  dexterity,  common  sense  and  brute  force. 
Digby  had  picked  him  as  showing  these  three  quali 
fications  in  excess  of  his  fellows  and  had  spent  a 
week  in  overalls  at  his  side,  first  with  lengths  of  a 
six-stranded  manilla  hawser  and  then  with  sections 
of  the  wire  rope  a  little  over  four  inches  in  circum 
ference,  of  six  strands  of  twelve  wires  each,  hemp 
heart  and  centers,  which  was  to  be  the  size  most  in 
use  at  the  Pico  mine.  For  the  hawser,  employed 
purely  as  an  optical  illustration,  their  hands  and  a 
wooden  pin  had  sufficed  but  when  it  came  to  manipu 
lating  the  wire  rope  they  had  been  forced  to  impro 
vise  a  marlin  spike  of  chilled  tool-steel  and  resort 
to  a  vise  and  nippers. 

Never  would  Digby  forget  the  interest  that  the 
big,  somber-eyed  mestizo  had  taken  in  every  step  of 
the  arduous  process  nor  his  own  feeling  of  conquest 
when  at  the  end  of  a  week  of  lacerated  hands  and 
continual  backache  he  could  at  last  straighten  up 

78 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

and  say,  "You  see,  Pablo?  It's  badly  done;  it's 
rough  work,  but  every  turn  is  right,  every  plait  in. 
place.  Make  a  smooth  one  like  the  hawser  there 
and  I'll  double  your  pay." 

"For  always?"  asked  the  peon  doubtingly. 

"For  always,"  confirmed  Digby  with  a  smile. 

Pablo  had  glanced  at  the  clean  splice  of  the  haw 
ser,  touched  lightly  with  his  stubby  fingers  the  crude 
inequalities  of  the  work  they  had  just  finished  and 
nodded  his  big  head  slowly  but  comprehendingly. 
"It  is  well,"  he  said.  Within  a  month  he  had  become 
an  expert  wire-rope  splicer,  that  rarest  of  all  jour 
neymen  who  once  uprooted  from  his  habitat  poises 
frequently  but  never  settles,  led  on  by  the  will-o'- 
the-wisp  of  ready  gold  gleaming  from  every  spot 
on  the  broad  earth  where  men  toil  with  the  imple 
ments  of  giants.  Unwittingly  he  held  in  his  rough 
ened  hands  a  valuable  but  dangerous  gift  from 
Digby,  his  well-wisher. 

Digby  turned  from  staring  at  him  and  walked 
thoughtfully  to  the  locked  and  barred  door  of  the 
zinc-room;  he  opened  it  and  entered  the  holy  of 
holies  of  the  mine.  Along  one  side  beneath  two 
of  the  small  windows  stood  a  rough  deal  table 

79 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

strewn  with  samples  of  precipitate,  crucibles,  retorts 
and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  process  investigation; 
on  the  walls  above  it  were  plastered  formulas  and 
charts;  stretching  away  into  dim  shadows  was 
the  battery  of  zinc-boxes.  Here  he  had  spent 
many  happy  hours  engrossed  in  manipulations  of 
oxidizing  agents,  potassium  ferricyanide,  sodium, 
manganese  dioxides,  into  combinations  far  above 
the  reach  and  interest  of  the  lay  mind.  He  was 
master  of  a  small  mine,  he  stood  alone,  and  was  as 
subject  to  endless  obligations  as  a  country  general 
practitioner  of  the  old  school;  the  tenacity  of  slimes 
•and  tailings  in  retaining  that  last  imbedded  cor 
puscle  of  gold,  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  was  to 
him  the  arch  enemy  as  worthy  of  pursuit  as  the 
most  recondite  and  formidable  microbe. 

It  was  an  understood  thing  at  Mountain  Acre  that 
if  he  did  not  appear  on  the  stroke  of  twelve,  he  was 
not  to  be  expected  for  lunch  and  many  were  the 
days  upon  which  this  rule  saved  the  household  from 
long  fasting.  There  is  only  one  kind  of  work  that 
will  make  a  man  forget  food  and  it  is  found  in  that 
activation  of  the  mind  upon  which  is  based  the  fer 
tile  illusion  of  its  ultimate  mastery  over  matter  and 

80 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

which  is  intimately  allied  to  the  nebulous  sources 
of  sheer  creation.  The  artist,  he  who  with  tool  or 
pen  or  brush  or  mortar  and  pestle  is  engaged  in  the 
production  of  that  which  he  believes  will  live,  alone 
is  fed  by  unseen  ravens  and  stands,  a  silent  bulwark, 
against  the  embattled  materialistic  forces  of  the 
forty-two-hour  week  and  minimum  production  for 
maximum  pay. 

With  Digby,  however,  the  unseen  ravens  were 
sometimes  displaced  by  Patrick  Hogan,  his  right- 
hand  man.  Pat  was  no  technician,  he  knew  nothing 
of  the  why  and  wherefore  of  this  and  that  in  the 
intricate  recovery  of  gold  from  low-grade  ores,  but 
he  had  a  keen  perception  for  results  and  the  driving- 
power  of  a  born  overseer  as  well  as  an  occult  faculty 
for  transmitting  to  his  underlings  the  essence  of  a 
near-blasphemy  acquired  through  wide  wanderings 
and  of  ironic  Gaelic  wit  without  the  aid  of  actual 
translation  into  an  alien  idiom.  Big,  rawboned, 
wide-eyed,  loose-mouthed  and  violent,  he  yet  pos 
sessed  a  tender  heart  which  would  often  lead  him 
to  seek  out  Digby,  bearing  an  offering  of  food  on 
a  shining  bit  of  banana  leaf. 

"Will  you  not  be  having  an  enchilayda,  sor  ?    It's 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

me  missus  itself  that  watched  to  make  them  and  they 
be  clane." 

Digby  would  invariably  accept  the  proffered 
enchilada  or  tamalc,  which  Pat's  incorrigible  tongue 
enunciated  as  "taymayly,"  with  an  absent-minded 
nod  of  thanks,  often  ate  the  titbit  subconsciously  but 
sometimes  laid  it  aside  and  when  he  finally  knocked 
off  work  was  put  to  it  to  cover  up  his  gastronomical 
delinquency  without  giving  offense. 

About  the  mill  were  grouped  two  or  three  dwell 
ings  and  half  a  dozen  shacks  which  were  occupied 
by  the  imported  foremen  and  labour  but  the  vast 
majority  of  the  peons  had  been  recruited  from  the 
neighbouring  town  and  came  to  their  work  more  or 
less  daily,  frequent  absences  being  ascribed  to  deaths 
in  the  family,  but  in  reality  due  to  the  low  price 
of  pulqiw. 

Pat  occupied  with  his  wife  the  most  pretentious 
of  the  houses  which  was  placed  facing  the  zinc-room 
and  at  such  a  short  distance  that  the  roaring  of  the 
stamps  would  have  been  deafening  to  ears  less 
trained  by  long  usage ;  his  had  attained  to  an  amaz 
ing  capacity  for  elimination  which  entirely  ignored 
all  sounds  attributable  to  the  proper  functioning  of 

82 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  mill  but  left  them  peculiarly  sensitive  to  any 
ominous  silence  or  the  prowlings  of  interlopers.  He 
owned  a  sawed-off  shotgun  of  short  range  but  war 
ranted  to  hit  everything  within  an  angle  of  ninety 
degrees  and  which  for  some  occult  reason  he  had 
named,  "Ne'er-do-weel's  fayther." 

"I  don't  see  it,  Pat,"  said  Digby  to  him  one  day. 
"If  you'd  call  it  stepfather,  now — " 

"What  for  will  I  call  it  stepfayther  thin,  Misther 
Digby,  and  it  to  be  me  best  friend  ?" 

Far  was  it  from  him  to  explain  and  much  farther 
from  Digby  to  guess  the  involved  connection  be 
tween  saving  parent  and  spendthrift  son,  a  blunder- 
bus  and  the  ancient  saying,  "A  narrow  gathering,  a! 
broad  scattering." 

Pat  was  not  above  formally  visiting  the  stables 
at  Mountain  Acre  on  Sunday  afternoons  and  giving 
careful  inspection  to  the  horses,  the  cow  and  the  pigs. 
This  was  no  part  of  his  duty  as  one  could  see  by 
the  deepening  of  the  blue  in  his  eyes  but  rather  a 
weekly  journey  by  the  road  of  old  familiar  contacts 
and  smells  to  a  far  country.  No  sooner  did  the 
wicket  gate  click  at  his  passage  than  the  children 
would  be  around  him,  catching  his  hands,  matching 

83 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

his  step  along  the  pergola  and  down  the  driveway, 
all  silent;  Junior  intent  on  learning  more  things 
about  horses,  Laura  hoping  for  fairy  lore  whispered 
with  a  fervour  of  faith  that  would  "raise  the  hair 
on  a  hen's  egg,"  and  Madeleine  engrossed  with 
thoughts  of  her  rabbits  which  had  once  induced  a 
tale  of  weasels  and  hares  wherein  the  latter  in  self- 
protection  had  learned  to  sleep  with  one  eye  only 
"an'  when  that  was  rested  and  slep  enough,  they 
opened  it  and  shut  the  other." 

Once  Pat  had  passed  the  stable,  barnyard  and 
stye  in  sober  review  and  berated  their  shiftless  at 
tendants  with  language  intrinsically  innocent  but 
violent  which  the  children  had  no  need  to  translate, 
they  would  gather  on  barrels,  fodder-bin  or  the  floor 
and  hear  how  Katty  got  out  of  the  pot  or  any  one 
of  a  thousand  thousand  other  tales,  for  Hogan  was 
a  well  possessed  of  the  unfathomable  depths  of  an 
ancient  people  eternally  young,  a  spring  that  bubbled 
hoary  fantasies  as  delicate  as  a  thrush's  ankle,  light 
narrative  that  one  could  blow  off  the  hand  and  lose 
save  as  a  lasting  perfume  on  memory. 

Laura  and  Junior  were  not  so  young  as  to  be  ig 
norant  of  a  flaw  in  the  complacent  armour  of  their 

84 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

big  friend  nor  so  spiritless  as  to  spare  him  weekly 
darts  directed  at  the  aperture;  so,  when  story-time 
was  over  and  they  were  on  the  way  to  repay  him 
with  a  dish  of  "tay"  and  half  an  hour  of  Mrs, 
Digby's  company  on  the  terrace,  they  would  ask 
him,  round-eyed  and  serious,  "How  is  Mrs.  Hogan, 
Pat  ?  Couldn't  she  come  up  with  you  to-day  ?" 

To  which  Pat  would  automatically  reply,  "Why 
then  she  has  the  fever  on  her  still ;  she  eats  any  more 
than  a  midge  in  the  Glen  of  Downs,  she's  speechless 
and  kilt  with  the  fasting." 

"Perhaps  mother  will  take  us  down  to  see  her," 
Laura  would  murmur,  her  eyes  slanted  to  observe 
Pat's  face. 

"Aree!"  he  would  reply  sadly,  "itself  can  see  no 
one  the  day,  aroon." 

Nobody  had  ever  seen  the  Mrs.  Hogan  of  Pat's 
unfailing  spoken  solicitude  and  respect.  Though  he 
always  referred  to  his  missus  as  merely  superin 
tending  the  preparation  of  the  food  which  he  oc 
casionally  offered  to  Digby,  it  was  an  open  secret 
that  he  had  married  a  native  lady  of  humble  origin 
who  at  the  time  of  the  contract  already  had  a  good 
many  nicks  to  her  horn,  but  for  all  her  age  and  per- 

85 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

haps  by  reason  of  it  was  a  mistress  of  the  local 
culinary  art. 

Pat  on  the  terrace  was  another  man;  gone  were 
fantasies  from  his  mind  and  light  speech  from  his 
tongue.  Whether  the  Digbys  were  alone  or 
whether  Ellerton  and  some  of  his  friends  had  come 
down  for  the  week-end  and  with  occasional  visitors 
crowded  the  cool  tiled  gallery,  he  took  his  tea  with 
equal  solemnity  and  seldom  spoke  unless  he  was  di 
rectly  addressed;  even  then  his  mouth  opened  only 
to  sententious  maxims  or  verbatim  repetitions  of 
some  previously  rendered  report. 

Digby  never  tired  of  trying  to  draw  him  out. 
"What  was  it  you  were  telling  me  about  the  cat, 
Pat?" 

"It  was  this  way,  sor,"  Hogan  complied  solemnly. 
"The  cat  was  in  an  empty  skip  an'  the  spalpeen  of  a 
peon  opens  the  chute  an'  kilt  the  poor  baste  dead 
with  a  load  of  ore  an'  then  when  it  crawled  out 
half-way  down  the  ropeway  to  the  cable,  screeching 
an'  squalling  an'  caterwauling,  they  let  the  next 
bucket  run  down  on  the  top  of  it  an'  murdered  it 
entirely  so  that  it  would  have  died  inside  the  week 

86 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

for  all  its  nine  lives  if  the  missus  herself  hadn't 
nursed  it  the  night  long." 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  the  gear-tender?" 
asked  Digby  when  the  general  laughter  was  over. 

"I  towld  him,"  replied  Pat,  apparently  unmoved, 
"he  wasn't  fit  to  mind  mice  at  a  crossroads  and  that 
if  ever  he  did  the  kind  again  I'd  bate  his  four  bones 
into  a  frog's  jelly,  comb  his  hair  with  the  creepy 
stool  and  murther  the  mother's  sowl  of  him." 

Mountain  Acre  was  so  near  to  the  City  that  Eller- 
ton  found  frequent  opportunity  to  stop  off  two  or 
three  days  on  his  way  from  one  company  property 
to  another  and  visit  it.  At  first  his  comings  were 
more  or  less  forced  by  problems  in  which  Digby  re 
quired  his  assistance,  but  as  the  years  passed  by  and 
the  mine  settled  to  a  steady  productive  routine  he 
came  more  and  more  often  partly  because  he  had 
done  well  for  himself  and  had  greater  liberty  and 
partly  because  there  was  a  charm,  a  security,  a  sense 
of  clean  rest  about  the  Digby  house  which  acted  on 
him  like  a  lodestone. 

He  was  younger  than  his  partner  by  eight  years, 
attractive,  well-to-do  and  as  a  consequence  sub- 

87 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

jected  in  an  unusual  degree  to  the  temptations  which 
assail  such  a  man  in  a  society  relaxed  from  home 
ties  and  home  morals  by  the  mere  fact  of  a  too- 
sudden  rise,  both  as  to  prosperity  and  numbers,  in  an 
alien  atmosphere.  There  are  foreign  colonies  of 
slow  growth  that  work  themselves  into  the  weave 
of  the  country  of  their  location,  choose  the  best  in 
a  studied  environment  and  gradually  wed  tradition 
to  tradition  but  the  element  of  his  compatriots  in 
which  Ellerton  mostly  moved  was  not  that  of  the 
scattered  many  who  had  actually  sent  down  new 
roots  but  of  the  spectacular  few  who  had  the  air  of 
picnickers  on  a  holiday. 

There  were  times  when  he  could  be  gay  with  the 
gayest  but  on  occasion  he  would  awake  to  thoughts 
of  Mountain  Acre  as  of  a  green  oasis  in  a  desert  of 
dead  ashes,  a  quiet  well  of  cool  water  where  the 
thirst  of  the  heart  for  those  fundamental  and  simple 
things  upon  which  his  generation  had  been  nursed 
to  vigour  could  be  appeased  even  though  it  were 
never  sated.  On  such  days  he  would  drop  whatever 
he  was  doing,  take  to  horse  or  train  or  more  recently 
to  motor  and  cover  the  intervening  miles  in  an  im 
patience  hard  to  reconcile  with  his  usual  careless 
mood. 


'Father,  I  see  a  smile  upon  the  face  of  the  Earth." 
'Hush!  my  son.  Some  mortal  hath  read  a  message." 


V  A  7HILE  the  children  were  young,  young  enough 
Y  Y  to  be  taken  on  the  knee  and  ridden  breathless 
to  the  beat  of  a  rhyme  of  Pat's  teaching, 

"How  many  miles  to  Dub-el-in  ? 

Three  score  and  tin. 
[Will  we  be  there  by  candle-light  ? 
Yes,  and  back  ag'in! 
Hupp,  hupp,  my  little  horse, 
Hupp,  hupp,  ag'in !" 

Ellerton  enjoyed  them  without  any  reservation  but 
when  tHey  attained  to  what  grown-ups  term  the  awk 
ward  age  and  the  young  inarticulately  regard  as  the 
epoch  of  durance  vile  during  which  within  prison 
bars  they  make  acquaintance  with  books,  teachers 
and  the  metronome,  he  was  conscious  of  impatience 
at  the  rigid  rules  of  tasks  and  silence  and  even  in 
the  hours  when  these  were  suspended  felt  himself 
to  be  a  partner  in  the  shyness  which  comes  to  youth 
along  with  lanky,  uncovered  shanks. 

During  this  period  he  rather  shunned  Mountain 
90 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Acre.  He  did  not  analyze  the  reason;  had  he 
done  so  he  would  have  found  it  rooted  in  his  limita 
tions  as  a  bachelor  who  is  without  the  capacity  for 
sympathy  with  that  orderly,  humdrum,  even  and 
arduous  interim  which  divides  inconsequence  from 
purpose  in  children's  lives  and  sets  for  the  span 
of  each  the  unmistakable  hallmark  of  the  home. 

These  drowsy  days  of  first  instruction  were  not 
without  their  underlay  of  charm  to  the  initiated, 
however;  Mary  loved  them,  sharing  with  Digby 
revelations  little  in  themselves  but  epochal  when 
illumined  by  that  most  poignant  of  the  cries  of  won 
der,  "Flesh  of  my  flesh,  bone  of  my  bone.'* 

She  herself  taught  the  girls  to  play  and  here  came 
across  the  fact  that  there  is  a  rock  in  the  compo 
sition  of  every  human  being,  however  unformed, 
soft,  animate  and  seemingly  malleable  to  outside 
influence,  the  mile-stone  that  marks  the  spot  where 
even  the  worm  will  turn.  The  look  that  would  set 
tle  like  a  pall  on  Madeleine's  features  when  at  the 
age  of  seven  she  was  placed  on  a  book-raised  stool 
before  the  piano  was  more  than  legible,  it  flamed  in 
livid  words;  conventionally  toned  down  and  trans 
lated  it  would  read  somewhat  as  follows:  "Damn! 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Dod  blast  my  splinters  and  the  old  cat's  eye !  Silly, 
silly,  silly:  one,  two,  three,  bang!  'Bang!  BANG!" 

The  oscillating  finger  of  the  metronome  aggra 
vated  her  to  a  point  where  rage  could  no  longer  be 
contained  and  one  day  her  mother  came  upon  her 
on  the  terrace  just  too  late  to  save  the  hated  instru 
ment  from  being  hurled  over  the  balustrade,  down 
and  down,  to  crash  far  below  to  the  accompaniment 
of  a  single  word  from  Madeleine. 

"Humpty!"  she  grunted  and  turned  to  take  her 
licking. 

After  a  curtain  consultation  that  night  broken  fre 
quently  by  the  admonition,  "Dick!  Dick!  Don't 
laugh  so  loud,"  it  was  decided  that  for  the  comfort 
of  all  and  in  the  name  of  common  sense  Madeleine 
was  to  be  informed  on  the  following  morning  that 
she  might  never,  never  again,  play  the  piano.  So 
solemn  was  the  pronouncement  of  sentence  that  she 
cried  as  though  her  heart  were  broken  but  strangely 
enough  obeyed  the  injunction,  spirit  and  letter,  from 
that  day  on. 

In  marked  contrast  Laura  would  sit  at  the  piano 
by  the  hour,  not  always  playing,  sometimes  dream 
ing,  sometimes  clasping  trembling  and  inexpert  fin- 

92 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

gers  in  an  agony  of  thwarted  aspiration.  More 
than  once  she,  too,  broke  into  tears,  wept  softly 
for  the  longing  that  was  in  her  to  bruise  nothing 
beautiful  and  for  the  impatience  which  overwhelmed 
her  desire.  At  such  moments  her  mother  would 
carry  her  away  and  pet  her. 

"There,  there,  darling,  don't  I  know  how  it  is? 
Don't  I?  You  mustn't  cry;  soon  you'll  forget 
your  fingers,  dear,  and  they'll  be  chasing  your 
dreams  all  up  and  down  the  keys." 

That  prophecy  was  fulfilled  and  as  a  result  before 
long  Mary  passed  beyond  her  pedagogic  depth ;  she 
was  fortunate  to  be  able  to  secure  an  excellent 
teacher  from  the  near-by  town,  a  young  woman,  an 
artist  who  had  crawled  into  that  soft  clime  to  die 
and  found  life  too  lingering  sweet  to  quite  let  go. 
She  was  an  unassuming  person  too  withdrawn  to 
impose  a  rule  on  recalcitrant  pupils  but  tuned  to 
meet  Laura's  very  need. 

For  daily  lessons  of  a  more  practical  nature  the 
children  were  handed  over  to  Miss  Downs,  an  Eng 
lish  spinster  who  lived  in  the  home  yet  to  the  casual 
observer  appeared  to  be  no  more  a  part  of  it  than 
the  stranger  within  its  gates.  The  exact  opposite 

93 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

was  true ;  Miss  Downs  had  so  built  herself  into  the 
establishment  that  she  was  as  unnoticeable  as  its 
walls  or  oaken  floors.  She  was  studiedly  colourless 
in  looks  and  in  deportment,  generically  incapable  of 
an  intrusion,  deliberately  devoid  of  expressed  opin 
ion;  silently,  completely  given  over  to  the  efficient 
performance  of  her  duties.  Upon  meeting  her  one 
remarked  nothing  of  note  but  he  who  once  knew 
her  despairs  of  depicting  her  in  a  paragraph.  She 
was  in  herself  a  volume  of  humanity,  a  national 
monument  to  the  finished  art  of  minding  one's  own 
affairs. 

It  was  her  business  to  ground  the  children  thor 
oughly  in  primary  knowledge,  to  watch  over  their 
deportment,  to  tone  down  their  voices  and  to  teach 
them  to  distinguish  Americanisms  without  oblit 
erating  them.  Nothing  could  have  exceeded  the 
absolute  judicial  impartiality  with  which  she  would 
say,  "In  England  we  say  of  meat  that  it  is  under 
done;  in  America  you  call  it  rare.  They  mean  the 
same."  Or,  "In  England  we  call  any  footwear  that 
comes  above  the  ankle  a  boot  but  when  you  say 
boot  you  mean  something  that  covers  the  calf  of 
the  leg," 

94 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

In  the  face  of  many  transgressions  she  never  in 
flicted  or  requested  from  the  children's  parents 
corporal  punishment;  she  knew  only  perseverance. 
NWith  never  a  variation  she  called  Laura,  My  Dear ; 
Madeleine,  Darling,  and  Junior,  Richard.  Lacking 
a  home  of  her  own,  her  room  became  her  castle  and 
into  it  she  retired  when  her  duties  were  done  or 
her  solitary  walk  over,  never  imposing  her  influence 
beyond  the  confines  of  the  house  and  her  specifically 
allotted  hours. 

It  is  hard  to  overestimate  the  grip  acquired 
through  years  of  such  unvarying  deportment ;  in  its 
long  run  it  was  bound  to  inculcate  respect  without 
fear,  solid  friendship  without  demonstration  of  af 
fection  and  a  pondered  recognition  of  fairness  in 
big  and  little  things  as  the  foundation  of  that  loy 
alty  which  is  the  flower,  par  excellence,  on  Anglo- 
Saxon  tradition.  Poor,  unasking  Miss  Downs! 
She  and  her  rare  counterparts  are  of  the  steel 
girders  of  the  earth,  destined  to  be  buried  but  in 
master  masonry. 

Once  released  from  their  lessons  the  children 
were  free  of  Mountain  Acre  and  its  immediate  en 
vironments  save  only  the  unattractive  path  to  the 

95 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

mine.  They  would  play  about  the  garden,  the 
stables  or  along  the  driveway  but  tended  to  gather 
sooner  or  later  at  the  back  of  the  house  where  there 
was  a  veritable  colony  of  native  dependents.  Here 
congregated  Maria,  the  cook,  an  ogress  subject  to 
occasional  softenings  of  the  heart;  Maria  Chica, 
her  assistant;  Paula,  Innocencia  and  Chucha,  once 
individual  nurses  to  the  three  youngsters,  now  pro 
moted  to  the  category  of  housemaids  and  laundress ; 
Pancho,  the  gardener,  and  a  nameless  helper; 
finally,  at  varying  hours  of  the  day,  all  the  relations 
of  the  above  to  the  third  generation  and  the  fif 
teenth  degree  of  cousinship. 

In  vain  had  Mrs.  Digby  fought  against  age-long 
custom  and  precedent  in  kitchen  hospitality;  it  was 
as  futile  to  warn  off  the  courteous,  mild-mannered, 
soft-speeched  throng  as  to  shoo  chickens  away  from 
an  unprotected  heap  of  grain;  it  returned  with 
smiling,  unwearying  persistence.  She  could  only 
fall  back  on  the  expedient  of  doling  out  her  serv 
ants'  strictly  measured  rations  of  beans,  flour,  meat 
allowance  and  sugar  daily  and  saving  her  nerves 
by  refraining  from  deliberate  excursions  to  the  rear 
of  the  house. 

96 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

So  silent  were  the  comings  and  goings  of  both  the 
domestics  at  their  duties  and  the  visitors  who  flitted 
into  the  yard  and  away  like  shadows  of  ghosts 
scorched  dark  by  the  sun  that  the  peace  of  Moun 
tain  Acre  was  never  disturbed  to  those  who  were 
content  to  avoid  the  servants'  restricted  quarters, 
drinking  their  fill  of  the  quietude  of  the  darkened 
rooms,  of  the  warm  drowsy  terrace  or  of  the  sun- 
flecked  garden.  But  for  the  children  the  afternoon 
hour  of  village  gossip,  of  the  incessant  pittapatting 
of  tortillas,  of  the  pungent  odours  of  chili-con-carne , 
frijoles  or  a  rare  molet  verde  in  preparation  or  of  the 
skilful  rolling  of  enchiladas,  all  foods  which  occa 
sionally  found  their  way  to  the  family  table  but 
robbed  of  the  aperitif  of  open  braziers  and  watering 
mouths,  was  pregnant  with  excitement  to  every  one 
of  their  five  senses.  They  looked  longingly  at  the 
coarse  provender  they  were  strictly  forbidden  to 
share  and  joined  freely  in  the  chatter,  flattered  by 
the  lazy,  good-natured  consideration  of  all  warm- 
climed  peoples  for  the  words  of  a  child. 

Such  epochs  end  in  point  of  duration  however 
lasting  the  stamp  they  leave  upon  their  product  and 
the  day  came  when  Miss  Downs'  mission  at  least 

97 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

to  that  family  was  done  and  Mrs.  Digby  could 
soften  the  break  to  herself  and  to  the  children  in 
the  excitement  of  a  journey  home,  long1  pondered 
and  discussed,  but  which  seemed  nevertheless  dras 
tic  and  swift  in  its  execution.  She  came  back  with 
out  the  youngsters;  even  little  Madeleine,  now  ten 
years  old,  was  left  behind  to  attend  school  under 
the  guardianship  of  pleased  and  sadly  deluded 
grandparents.  From  that  time  on  Mary  appeared 
to  herself  and  her  husband  to  be  constantly  packing 
for  a  journey  or  unpacking  from  another ;  a  trip  to 
fetch  the  children,  another  to  take  them  back,  still 
another  because  she  was  heartsick  and  one  made 
with  the  deliberate  purpose  of  giving  the  baby  of 
the  family  a  spanking  she  would  not  forget  in  a 
year  of  Sundays. 

During  these  comings  and  goings  and  long  ab 
sences  Ellerton  came  back  into  his  own;  every 
week-end  and  holiday  that  found  him  within  reach 
he  spent  at  Mountain  Acre,  sometimes  alone,  some 
times  accompanied  by  four  or  five  men  of  the  same 
stamp  as  Digby  and  himself,  long  limbed  or  tubby 
but  all  bronzed,  cool  of  eye  and  steady  of  hand, 
men  who  had  gambled  with  fate  and  could  yet  find 

98 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

deep  solace  in  those  emblems  of  nationality,  a  game 
of  penny-ante  or  double  pinochle  at  a  quarter  a 
hundred. 

Weightier  matters,  however,  were  not  lost  to 
view  and  as  a  result  a  memorable  week  in  the 
autumn  of  1906  brought  two  representatives  from 
the  capital  which  had  backed  the  Pico  mine  to  de 
cide  definitely  by  conference  on  the  spot  on  matters 
of  far-reaching  importance.  The  four  men  spent 
as  many  days  in  overalls;  they  crawled  through 
half-obstructed  levels,  descended  on  a  rope-sling 
shafts  long  unused,  took  samples  of  reef  from  deep 
workings,  studied  the  geological  formation,  argued 
hotly  as  to  its  true  reading  with  regard  to  breaks 
and  pinched  leads,  made  assays  and  studied  for 
hours  the  life  chart  of  the  enterprise  to  date.  When 
every  source  of  tangible  evidence  had  been  clawed 
with  a  fine-toothed  comb  Powel,  the  elder  of  the 
two  visitors,  broke  a  long  silence  with  a  single 
question. 

"You  believe  in  it,  Ellerton?" 

"I  believe  in  it  so  solidly,"  replied  Ellerton, 
"that  I'm  going  to  break  all  rules  and  tumble  all  the 
eggs  I  can  reach  into  this  one  basket." 

99 


"And  you?"  asked  Powel,  turning  to  Digby. 

Digby 's  eyes  assumed  the  same  concentrated 
glow  which  had  come  to  them  when  Ellerton  had 
first  sprung  the  project  of  the  Pico  mine;  only  now 
it  burned  with  an  added  almost  fanatical  intensity 
as  if  the  question  were  an  aspersion  on  the  stability, 
worth  and  promise  of  that  which  he  had  built  with 
his  own  hands,  bathed  with  the  daily  sweat  of  his 
brow  and  inspired  with  the  breath  of  life.  He  felt, 
besides,  the  tugging  of  that  bond  of  sympathy  which 
links  the  master-builder  to  his  creation,  endows  the 
inanimate  with  attributes  of  benevolence  and  im 
poses  a  mutual  loyalty. 

"I  go  Rox  one  better,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "I  wager 
what  money  I've  got,  wife  and  children." 

"That  settles  it,"  said  Powel  soberly.  "If  we  lose, 
we  lose  in  damned  good  company." 

Digby  could  not  sleep  that  night;  his  mind  bored 
into  the  mountain,  sank  shafts,  ran  tunnels,  opened 
levels  and  finally  raised  a  monstrous  mill  that  es 
caped  its  control,  swelled  and  rose  until  it  threatened 
to  out-tower  Babel  and  crash  to  its  own  and  the 
dreamer's  destruction.  In  a  vain  effort  to  calm  his 
spirit  he  impelled  his  thoughts  far  afield  until  they 

100 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

swept  in  review  the  whole  course  of  an  awakening 
so  wide-spread  that  the  Pico  mine  became  dwarfed 
to  the  proportions  of  a  mere  hanger-on  at  the  small 
end  of  a  mighty  procession. 

During  twenty  years  his  compatriots  had  poured 
money  into  this  country  at  the  rate  of  fifty  millions 
a  year.  Rough-tongued,  rough-handed,  uncouth  to 
the  eye  and  ear,  they  had  yet  constructed  the  cleanest 
roads  known  to  railway  history  the  world  over,  res 
urrected  mines,  established  smelters,  built  foundries, 
factories,  breweries  and  all  unconsciously  played  the 
role  of  Frankenstein,  created  in  a  land  of  almost 
universal  bondage  a  new  class,  produced  a  social  re 
birth  of  that  which  had  not  existed  in  the  memory 
of  the  living,  brought  to  life  the  wage-earner  who 
received  payment  for  his  labour  in  cash  and  not  in 
credit  against  the  debts  of  his  forebears. 

"And  it's  only  the  beginning,"  murmured  Digby 
aloud,  staring  wide-eyed  at  the  shadowy  ceiling. 
None  knew  better  than  he  the  extent  of  fertile  un- 
planted  valleys,  the  bodies  of  untouched  ore  locked 
behind  barriers  of  transportation,  the  millions  of 
cattle  without  a  market,  the  wealth  of  primeval  for 
ests  and  the  broad  field  still  barren  of  industries.  He 

101 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

felt  the  pride  of  a  communion,  a  oneness,  with  a  vast 
surge  of  human  prosperity,  and  gloried  as  had  his 
forefathers  in  the  silent,  deep-seated  emotion  of  the 
pioneer. 

On  the  following  day  he  summoned  Mary,  who 
had  gone  to  the  City  on  the  pretext  of  urgent  shop 
ping  but  in  reality  to  give  the  four  men  a  free  hand, 
release  them  from  the  exigencies  of  shaving,  dress 
ing  and  generally  being  polite  while  engrossed  with 
matters  intimately  allied  to  the  soil,  old  clothes  and 
an  occasional  emphatic  oath.  She  returned  in  time 
to  shine  as  hostess  during  two  days  of  quiet  but 
none  the  less  fervid  rejoicing  over  a  consummation 
pregnant  with  possibilities. 

The  evening  of  the  day  when  Ellerton,  Powel  and 
his  companion  took  their  departure  was  one  of  pene-« 
trating  silences.  The  silence  of  accustomed  voices 
recently  withdrawn,  of  footsteps  echoing  in  memory, 
of  drooping  trees,  drenching  moonlight,  creeping 
shadows,  pale  snows  and  silver-ribboned  waters  afar, 
entered  into  Digby's  very  soul  as  he  gripped  the 
balustrade  of  the  terrace,  diffused  his  sense  of  entity, 
wafted  it  out  and  away  to  partake  of  the  cup  of  uni 
versal  knowledge.  Suddenly  he  straightened  with 

1 02 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

a  quick  turn  of  his  head  toward  Mary,  who  was 
sitting  near  by  watching  him  with  a  tender  yet  quiz 
zical  intensity. 

"You  didn't  hear  it,  of  course,"  he  said  with  a 
faint  unreadable  smile. 

"Hear  what,  Dick?"  asked  Mary,  her  brows 
puckering  to  a  troubled  frown. 

"The  voice  of  the  valley,"  said  Digby,  still  smil 
ing.  "Do  you  remember  what  I  told  you,  Polly? 
That  it  had  a  secret,  a  vast  secret,  and  that  I  would 
never  rest  till  I'd  read  it?  It  spoke  to  me  just  now. 
I — I  made  it  speak." 

"And  what  did  it  say?" 

"The  earth  is  of  the  body  of  God." 

"That's  blasphemous,"  said  Mary  quickly,  her  lips 
a  proxy  for  her  ancestors. 

"No,"  said  Digby  calmly  but  frowning  in  concen 
tration,  "I  haven't  got  all  its  meaning  yet,  but  there's 
more  to  it  than  that.  The  crowding  of  so  much 
beauty  into  the  insignificant  angle  of  a  man's  eye 
can  be  a  symbol  beyond  blasphemy.  I  guess  such 
things  go  by  feeling." 

Mary  arose  and  came  close  to  him ;  a  sense  of  sud 
den  loneliness  possessed  her  as  though  a  single  deep 

103 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

moment  unshared  were  enough  to  open  a  chasm  be 
tween  her  heart  and  his.  She  looked  not  at  the 
valley  but  into  his  eyes  as  she  whispered,  "Dick,  I 
feel  it  too.  Indeed  I  do." 

His  smiling  eyes  filled  suddenly  with  moisture,  he 
forgot  all  but  her  tender  anxiety,  caught  her  in  his 
arms  and  held  her  tightly.  "Mary,  my  darling," 
he  murmured,  "I  love  you.  You  know  that  I  love 
you." 

For  one  such  moment  after  long  association  with 
any  woman  a  man  may  go  on  his  knees  and  thank 
God.  Digby  was  not  conscious  of  reverence  but  he 
knew  that  he  was  happy  beyond  the  just  allotment  to 
any  individual;  consequently  it  was  almost  as  an 
earnest  to  his  fatalism  that  a  cablegram  arrived  on 
the  following  day  laconically  announcing  the  sus 
pension  of  Madeleine  from  school  a  fortnight  before 
the  close  of  the  term.  From  herself  came  a  char 
acteristic  supplementary  message:  "Don't  worry 
why  they  promised  to  let  me  tell  it  myself." 

Ten  days  later  came  a  letter  from  the  head-mis 
tress  of  the  school  addressed  to  Mary.  She  read  it 
eagerly,  her  eyes  turned  absurdly  blank  and  then 
flashed  angrily.  "Dick,  what  do  you  think  of  this? 

104 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Listen.  'My  dear  Mrs.  Digby.  We  have  been 
forced  to  suspend  Madeleine ;  when  she  confesses  to 
you  as  she  has  promised  to  do,  you  will  know  why 
we  could  take  no  other  course,  why  I  despair  of  tell 
ing  you  about  it  by  letter,  why  we  will  be  glad  to 
receive  her  again  in  the  fall  and  above  everything 
else  why  we  love  her  behind  her  back/  ' 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Digby. 

"Every  word  except  the  'cordially  yours,'  etc.," 
replied  Mary.  "What  does  she  mean?  What  does 
she  mean?" 

"There,  there,  now,"  warned  Digby,  "if  you  begin 
that  way  curiosity  will  be  picking  the  bones  of  what's 
left  of  you  by  the  time  Madeleine  gets  here." 

"I'm  not  curious,"  declared  Mary,  angry  tears 
in  her  eyes.  "My  own  baby !" 

"Now,  Mary,"  said  Digby  in  a  tone  he  seldom 
used,  "you  read  the  thing  over  again.  It's  a  mighty 
clever  letter,  comforting  from  start  to  finish  and  just 
means  that  Madeleine,  true  to  form,  has  invented 
some  entirely  new  breed  of  scrape  which  can't  be 
described  in  the  mails.'* 

"Dick!"  cried  Mary  horrified,  but  with  lips 
tempted  to  smile,  "how;  can  you  say  such  a  thing." 

105 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"I  don't  mean  what  you  think,"  hedged  Digby 
hurriedly.  "What  I  meant  is  that  the  words  that 
would  make  the  matter  clear  aren't  available  yet  to 
-the  general  public  and  won't  be  until  Madeleine  re 
leases  them." 

Mary  thought  soberly  for  a  while  and  then  de 
liberately  faced  about  within  herself  and  arrived  at 
a  decision  of  patience;  during  the  three  weeks  that 
intervened  before  Digby  was  to  depart  to  meet  the 
three  children  who  were  coming  by  steamer  to  the 
nearest  port  chaperoned  by  friends  of  the  family 
she  never  once  reopened  the  subject. 

"My  dear,"  said  Digby  as  he  kissed  her  good-by, 
"you  are  wonderful.  I  could  almost  promise  not  to 
let  her  tell  me  until  we  get  back." 

"Don't  be  silly,"  said  Mary,  giving  him  smile  for 
smile.  "Now  go  or  you'll  miss  the  train." 

Two  days  later  as  he  stood  on  the  wharf  and 
looked  up  at  his  children  crowding  excitedly  to  the 
rail  of  the  steamer  Digby  felt  a  pride  that  for  a 
moment  usurped  the  rightful  place  of  affection. 
They  had  more  than  the  beauty  of  youth ;  character, 
distinction  and  each  an  individuality  which  he  alone 
could  read  in  the  light  of  all  the  years  of  their  lives. 

1 06 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Laura,  though  only  nineteen,  had  come  into  the  full 
legacy  of  womanhood ;  she  was  as  old  to-day  as  she 
would  ever  be.  Her  expression  was  one  of  sweet 
ness  that  would  live  beyond  knowledge  because  her 
heart  was  born  choked  with  tenderness  for  every 
thing  that  suffers. 

To  look  upon  Junior's  face,  resolute,  round- 
cheeked,  warm-lipped  but  blatantly  young,  it  was 
difficult  to  believe  that  he  had  already  passed  his 
examinations  for  college  with  flying  colours.  There 
was  a  shy  light  in  his  eyes  of  questioning  before  the 
door  of  life  overlaid  by  a  brazen  stare  which  pre 
tended  to  the  world  that  if  he  had  not  seen  all  dark 
things  he  at  least  knew  about  them.  Close  beside 
him,  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  stood  Madeleine  in  a 
cloud  of  tumbled  hair,  light  as  the  breezes  that 
frolicked  with  it.  Her  cheeks  were  a  flame  of 
subtly  changing  colour,  her  lips  were  red,  mobile, 
closing  and  parting  as  though  to  kiss  good-by  each 
regretted  passing  breath  of  the  joy  of  being.  She 
was  just  fifteen;  kittens  played  in  her  eyes,  mis 
chievous,  demure,  sometimes  still,  abnormally  still, 
waiting  to  pounce.  As  they  met  her  father's  gaze 
they  flashed  defiance  and  then  suddenly  melted  to  a 

107 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

look  of  heartrending  wistfulness  that  brought  a 
lump  to  his  throat. 

On  the  way  to  the  train  she  snuggled  up  to  him 
and  whispered,  "Not  here,  Daddy,  not  to-day.  At 
Mountain  Acre, — sometime." 

He  pressed  her  arm  in  silent  understanding, 
waited  and  persuaded  Mary  to  wait  for  five  long 
days.  Mrs.  Digby  yielded  to  one  temptation  and 
felt  ashamed  of  her  weakness  the  moment  after;  she 
asked  Laura  in  an  hour  when  they  were  alone  if 
she  or  Junior  had  learned  what  had  happened. 
Laura's  steady  eyes  tenderly  amused  had  brought 
a  quick  flush  to  her  mother's  cheeks  and  swift  re 
pentance  to  her  heart.  She  felt  a  culprit,  immeas 
urably  younger  than  her  daughter. 

"I'm  sorry  I  said  anything,  dear,"  she  whispered 
hurriedly.  "Don't  tell." 

"Why,  Mother  darling,"  cried  Laura  with  a  soft 
laugh.  "There's  simply  not  a  thing  to  tell.  There 
never  was  a  girl  like  Madeleine.  Not  a  word,  not 
one  single  word  and  Junior  after  her  day  and  night 
for  a  solid  week !" 

Five  long  days  during  which  the  house  and  all  it 
contained  seemed  hung  in  suspension  by  a  thread 

108 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

and  in  danger  of  falling  with  a  crash  at  a  laugh,  a 
loud  word  or  even  a  too  expressive  sigh  and  then  at 
night,  just  after  dinner,  Madeleine  grew  restless, 
walked  with  sharp  turns  on  the  terrace,  suddenly  ap 
proached  her  father,  caught  his  hand  and  laid  her 
cheek  against  his  shoulder.  "It's  so  lovely  and  still 
and  dark  in  the  garden,  Daddy." 

He  went  with  her  swiftly,  with  never  a  look  back 
at  Mary  and  the  older  children  who  might  quite 
pardonably  have  burst  into  screams  at-  this  harbinger 
of  imminent  deliverance  from  long  waiting.  He  did 
not  let  Madeleine  stop  in  the  garden;  instinctively 
he  felt  that  an  acre  would  not  quite  hold  the  story 
that  was  coming  and  so  led  her  slowly  under  the 
wide  privet  arch  and  far  down  the  driveway.  It 
was  a  night  of  velvet  blackness  shot  with  a  shimmer 
ing  silver  half-light  from  a  myriad  crowding  stars. 

"I  couldn't  tell  you  sooner,"  murmured  Made 
leine,  "because  of  the  moon.  It's  dark  to-night," 
she  added  ruefully,  "but  somehow  I  can  see  you  and 
of  course  you  can  see  me.  I  nc  /er  knew  stars  could 
be  nasty  before." 

Digby  stopped  and  stared  at  her.  In  that  moment 
conviction  came  to  him  of  her  beauty  not  as  that  of 

109 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

his  child  beheld  with  generous  love  but  as  a  demon 
stration  patent  to  the  eyes  of  all  the  world,  of  men, 
of  the  trees  that  drooped  to  touch  her  as  she  passed, 
of  the  flowers  that  nodded  primly  as  to  a  rival.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  little  frock  of  plaited,  clinging  red, 
cut  in  a  shallow  scallop  at  the  neck,  short-sleeved. 
Against  its  dark  warmth  her  throat  and  bare  arms 
showed  white  as  milk  on  raspberries.  The  long 
lashes  of  her  eyes  made  her  seem  to  peer  from 
shadows. 

"If  you  wish,"  he  said,  "I'll  turn  my  head  the 
other  way  while  you  tell  me." 

"Would  you?"  said  Madeleine  eagerly  and  then 
cried  with  sudden  decision,  "No!  Look  at  me;  I'm 
going  to  tell  you  now."  Her  voice  dropped  to  a 
lower  tone.  "Daddy,"  she  continued,  "it  was  a  very 
hot  day,  not  clean  hot  like  here  but  muggy,  nasty, 
clammy  hands, — you  know." 

"Of  course  I  do,"  agreed  Digby. 

"In  the  morning  they  had  dragged  us  out  in  the 
broiling  sun  for  natr.rc  study  and  the  only  last  thing 
we  saw  or  heard  was  a  pestering  old  Teacher  bird 
that  we'd  studied  over  and  over  again  and  he  kept 
following  us  around,  sniggering  'Teacher,  teacher, 
teach-ti.*  You  know." 

no 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Digby  nodded  with  pursed  lips. 

"Well,  in  the  afternoon  the  editors  of  the  School 

\ 

Zephyr,  silly  name,  came  and  told  me  they  were 
going  to  print  a  Hot  Weather  Anthology  and  every 
girl  in  our  class  was  to  write  one  and  I  said,  'what 
is  an  anthology?'  and  they  said,  'a  collection  of 
choice  extracts  from  authors,  please  won't  you  write 
one,  the  prize  is  Nellie  Blythe's  silver-mounted  fly- 
swatter.'  So  I  said  I  would  and  I  did  and  I  won 
the  swatter  and  then  I  got  suspended  and — and 
that's  all" 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't,  Maddie,"  said  Digby.  "Come 
now,  tell  me  what  you  wrote." 

"Every  word  ?"  pleaded  Madeleine. 

"Every  last  single  word." 

"Oh,  Daddy,  are  you  sure  you  realize  what  a  hot 
and  muggy  and  clammy  and  sticky  and  nasty  day 
it  was ;  poisonously  hot  and  muggy  and — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Digby,  pretending  to  wipe 
sweat  from  his  brow.  "I've  often  come  near  lying, 
dear,  on  a  day  like  that." 

"Oo-o-oh,  Daddy,"  exclaimed  Madeleine. 

Digby  nodded  his  head  gravely.    "Mighty  near." 

"Well!"  said  Madeleine,  "that  makes  it  easier. 
Here — here  goes: 

in 


HOT  WEATHER  ANTHOLOGY 
TURTLE  SONG 

Were  I  a  turtle  on  a  limb, 

Beside  some  noisome  pool, 

And  could  I  like  a  turtle  swim, 

I'd  never  go  to  school! 

I'd  sit  beneath  my  bony  dome 

And  listen  to  the  rain, 

And  if  my  mother  called  me  home 

I'd  crawl  into  a  drain, 

Hobnob  with  oysters  in  the  shell, 

Blow  bubbles  all  day  long! 

The  Teacher  bird  could  go  to  Hell, — = 

I'd  sing  my  own  darned  song." 

Digby  suddenly  crumpled  at  the  knees,  sat  on  his 
heels,  buried  his  face  in  his  folded  arms  and  broke 
down ;  his  shoulders  heaved  spasmodically.  "Leave 
me,"  he  gasped,  "please  leave  me." 

"Father!"  cried  Madeleine,  stooping  over  him; 
oh,  Daddy,  oh  please  don't,  Daddy.  I  tell  you  I'm 
sorry/' 

She  stopped  speaking  abruptly  and  straightened; 
the  odd  sounds  that  were  clawing  their  way  out  of 
her  father's  throat  were  not  sobs;  they  suddenly 
freed  themselves  and  developed  into  a  peal  of 
laughter  that  rang  the  gong  of  echo  a  mile  away. 

na 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"You  think  it's  funny,  do  you  ?"  cried  Madeleine 
and  in  the  reaction  from  the  very  real  strain  she  had 
been  under  forgot  relationship  completely,  grasped 
two  handfuls  of  her  father's  hair  and  pulled  with  all 
her  might.  He  broke  loose,  arose,  tore  up  the  drive 
way  as  fast  as  he  could  run  and  burst  upon  the  dum- 
founded  group  on  the  terrace  with  Madeleine  fol 
lowing  hard  at  his  heels.  She  was  in  a  towering 
rage  and  before  her  father  could  recover  his  breath 
she  exploded : 

"Don't  you  tell !  Don't  you  dare  tell.  If  you  do, 
I'll  hate  every  last  one  of  you  always  and  always 
and  always." 

Digby  sobered  immediately.  "Look  here,  Mad^ 
die,"  he  said.  "I  won't  tell,  but  listen  to  me.  You 
know  it's  absolutely  impossible  for  your  mother  or 
Laura  or  even  Junior  to  sleep  until  they  hear  the 
muggy-day  poem  that  got  you  fired  from  school.  I 
laughed;  I  couldn't  help  it,  but  that  doesn't  mean 
you  haven't  done  a  naughty  thing.  I  won't  tell  but 
you  will." 

"I — I  won't,"  said  Madeleine. 

Digb/s  eyes  turned  to  the  gray  of  steel,  they 
seized  on,  Madeleine's  and  locked  in  a  gaze  that 

"3 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

meant  life  or  death  to  him.  "Tell,"  he  said  quietly, 
"or  take  a  whipping  you'll  never  forget,  big  girl 
that  you  are." 

"W-well,  whu — whip  me,  then,"  sobbed  Made 
leine,  tears  pouring  down  her  cheeks. 

Mary  threw  herself  forward  on  her  knees  and 
wrapped  her  arms  around  the  child's  waist.  "Made 
leine,"  she  said,  "your  father  will  never  whip  you, 
never  in  this  wide  world ;  but  if  you  don't  make  him 
laugh  again  now,  you'll  do  a  cruel  thing  to  us  all, 
you'll  bring  the  first  great  unhappiness  that  ever 
came  to  Mountain  Acre." 

Madeleine  stopped  crying;  her  face  broke  into  a 
slow  smile  and  into  her  eyes  there  sprang  that  swift 
look  of  liquid  wistfulness  which  struck  straight  at 
the  heart.  "I'd  do  anything  in  the  world  for  my 
Daddy,"  she  gasped  in  one  long  breath,  straightened 
in  her  mother's  arms,  froze  her  gaze  to  a  stony  stare 
and  once  more  recited  the  Turtle  Song  with  a  single 
change, — she  said  damn  instead  of  darned. 

The  others  laughed,  like  Digby  they  couldn't  help 
it,  but  he  strode  forward,  snatched  up  his  big  baby, 
kissed  her  with  the  trembling  lips  of  adoration  and 
carried  her  away  to  bed. 

114 


Romance?     Two  turtle  doves 
with  an  echo  in  every  heart!" 


CHAPTER  V 

A  FEW  days  later  Ellerton  arrived  unannounced 
at  Mountain  Acre;  he  had  known  for  over  a 
month  that  the  children  were  expected  but  the  fact 
had  not  impressed  itself  on  his  mind.  It  was  two 
years  since  he  had  seen  Madeleine  or  Junior  and 
over  three  since  Laura  had  last  come  home;  as  a 
consequence  he  had  grown  accustomed  to  dropping 
in  without  the  slightest  formality  on  Digby,  feeling 
sure  that  he  would  cause  no  inconvenience.  If  it 
were  during  winter  Mary  was  usually  there  but  she 
had  spent  the  last  three  summers  away  and  as  the 
weather  on  this  particular  day  was  exceedingly 
warm  it  acted  on  Ellerton  by  suggestion  and  gave 
him  a  hazy  impression  that  he  was  to  find  his  partner 
a  grass-widower,  orphaned  of  his  offspring  and 
eager  for  company. 

Such  aberrations  of  the  mind  are  of  common  oc 
currence  ;  one  finds  one's  self  convinced  for  no  valid 
reason  that  Wednesday  is  Sunday  or  that  west  is 
east  on  a  familiar  street  and  an  awakening  from  any 

116 


NUT  TALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

such  deluded  condition  is  as  real  as  that  of  being 
dragged  to  consciousness  out  of  actual  slumber. 
Ellerton  was  preoccupied  with  thoughts  of  mines, 
business  and  the  money  market  when  having  left  his 
car  at  the  stables  he  entered  the  gate  to  the  garden 
at  Mountain  Acre  and  came  upon  a  slim  vision  in 
white  bending  over  a  half -opened  rose. 

He  stopped  and  stared;  not  for  a  moment  did  it 
occur  to  him  that  the  apparition  might  be  Mary 
caught  in  an  effort  to  renew  her  youth  and  at  the 
same  time  meet  the  weather  half-way  by  arraying 
herself  in  a  diaphanous  clinging  garment  of  some 
what  less  than  ankle  length.  He  knew  Mary  too 
well,  every  pose  of  her  body  and  mind  had  matured 
through  long  years  under  his  eyes  and  eliminated  all 
possibility  of  a  confusion  of  her  identity  with  that  of 
this  stranger. 

So  still  was  everything  around,  the  fixed,  sharply 
cut  shadows  of  the  sun-bathed  hedges  and  trees,  the 
soft  warm  air,  the  abnormally  quiet  house,  that -it 
seemed  to  him  in  his  trance-like  mood  that  he  had 
entered  to  a  lovely  scene  of  abandonment  and  come 
upon  the  incarnated  spirit  of  beauty  in  the  .act  of 
taking  inventory.  The  stooping  figure  sensed  his 

117 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

presence,  straightened  and  turned  in  a  single  supple 
movement  devoid  of  abruptness  as  though  no  event 
could  startle  its  habitual  calm  in  action. 

Ellerton  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  girl 
almost  as  tall  as  himself ;  her  head  was  carried  with 
that  eager  lilt  which  imbues  flowers  in  the  cool  of 
early  morning,  her  shoulders  were  slim  but  erect  and 
proportioned  to  her  body  which  forced  attention  not 
so  much  by  its  veiled  suggestions  of  perfection  as  by 
the  swift  impression  that  it  was  the  symbol  of  a  state 
of  mind,  a  visible  expression  of  a  rule  of  life.  Her 
eyes  as  they  met  his  were  bemused  with  dreams  but 
suddenly  awakened  to  a  wide-open  grayness  which 
immediately  haunted  his  recollection  and  puzzled 
him  by  confusion  with  his  recent  thoughts  of  Digby. 
Thus  had  Dick  looked  at  him  out  of  those  selfsame 
eyes  many  and  many  a  time. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered,  snatching 
off  his  soft  hat  and  crumpling  it  nervously  in  his 
hands.  He  was  not  aware  how  outrageously  he  was 
staring  until  the  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  laughter; 
then  came  recognition,  overwhelming,  breath-taking 
in  its  implications  of  cosmic  changes  in  an  old  world. 
His  lips  parted  to  the  cry  of  Laura!  but  no  sound 

118 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

issued.  Why  ?  He  did  not  know ;  it  was  as  though 
he  stood  outside  himself,  observing  the  contractions 
of  his  own  throat,  the  wave  of  colour  that  flooded 
his  bronzed  cheeks,  listening  to  the  pounding  of  his 
own  heart  and  cursing  the  outrageous  fixity  of  his 
paralyzed  gaze. 

Laura,  too,  had  started  to  speak,  to  call  him  Uncle 
Rox  and  make  fun  of  him  for  not  knowing  her  but 
the  alien  force  which  had  so  suddenly  possessed 
itself  of  Ellerton,  body  and  soul,  is  seldom  limited  to 
a  single  direction;  it  is  an  ambient,  an  aura,  within 
whose  prescribed  reach  men  and  women  breathe 
equally  an  air  of  suspended  joy  and  peril,  an  air  in 
which  message  and  answer  are  apt  to  fuse  to  a  be 
wildering  oneness  that  makes  the  quickened  heart 
beat  to  the  confused  measure  of  "Guilty;  Not 
Guilty." 

As  without  conscious  volition  Laura  met  Eller- 
ton's  look  in  spirit  as  well  as  in  fact,  the  old  familiar 
words  died  on  her  lips  and  a  faint  flush  rose  to  her 
pale  cheeks.  There  was  no  giving  of  self  in  the  sur 
render  of  her  eyes ;  only  a  questioning  wonder  linked 
to  the  courage  of  investigation  as  if  she  accepted 
new  worlds  as  incident  to  the  scheme  of  any  indi- 

119 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

vidual  progression  and  entitled  to  an  appropriate 
measure  of  understanding.  But  so  unheralded  was 
the  experience  which  now  held  her  in  its  puzzling 
grip  that  for  a  moment  her  sense  of  innate  poise 
failed  her  and  she  felt  lost  upon  an  unstable  sea. 
She  knew  instinctively  that  in  this  sole  instance  she 
could  not  look  to  Ellerton  for  help  and  it  was  by  a 
deliberate  exertion  of  the  will  that  she  finally 
wrenched  herself  back  to  a  more  normal  but  still 
faintly  palpitating  condition  of  mind  and  body. 

Her  lips,  which  had  been  parted  in  suspense,  broke 
,to  a  shy  smile.  "You  didn't  know  me,"  she  mur 
mured. 

"No,"  said  Ellerton,  still  staring  at  her,  "I  didn't 
know  you." 

Laura's  eyes  wandered  from  his  face;  she  felt 
vaguely  that  it  was  unfair  of  him  not  to  aid  her 
effort  to  regain  the  dry  land  of  every-day  associa 
tions.  "Junior  and  Madeleine  have  gone  for  a  ride," 
she  said  inconsequently,  "but  Mother  is  somewhere 
in  the  house.  Shall  we  look  for  her?" 

Ellerton  sighed  and  at  last  came  to  himself.  "Yes, 
let's/'  he  said  quite  easily  but  without  familiarity. 
"Where's  your  father?" 

Laura  glanced  at  him  with  a  gleam  of  mischief 
1 20 


in  her  eye.  Who  should  know  better  than  Ellerton 
where  Digby  would  be  at  that  hour  of  the  day  ?  "I 
think  he's  at  the  mine,"  she  answered  demurely. 
"It's  beyond  the  house,  you  know;  around  the  moun 
tain." 

He  forced  a  smile  to  his  set  lips.  "Yes,  I  remem 
ber,"  he  said.  "I  think  you'd  better  not  bother  your 
mother  just  now;  I'll  go  straight  through  and  find 
him." 

Her  eyes  still  smiling  but  with  a  puzzled  frown 
wrinkling  her  usually  placid  forehead,  Laura 
watched  his  erect  figure  pass  through  the  wicket  and 
along  the  short  visible  reach  of  the  path  to  the  mine ; 
as  it  disappeared,  cut  from  sight  by  the  protruding 
buttress  of  the  mountain,  she  turned  slowly  and  went 
to  find  her  mother. 

"Mr.  Ellerton  has  come,"  she  said. 

"Mr.  Ellerton  ?"  repeated  Mary.  "Oh,  you  mean 
your  Uncle  Rox."  She  glanced  up  at  Laura's  face 
and  found  there  a  faintly  smiling  expression  new  to 
her  experience  of  her  children.  "Don't  you,  Laura?" 
she  asked  after  a  perceptible  pause. 

Laura  fingered  a  book  lying  on  the  table  at  her 
hand,  glanced  down  at  it  and  then  raised  her  eyes 
frankly  to  her  mother's  face.  "I  don't  know  whether 

121 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

I  do  or  not,"  she  said.  "You  see,  Mother,  he  didn't 
know  me.  He  stared  at  me  so  queerly  and  even 
when  it  came  over  him  who  I  was  he  didn't  call  me 
Laura,  not  once,  or  even  shake  hands.  Isn't  it 
funny?" 

Mary  did  not  answer;  she  pretended  to  be  ab 
sorbed  in  her  work  but  her  brows  slowly  gathered  in 
a  troubled  frown.  Laura  started  to  leave  the  room 
but  as  she  reached  the  door  her  mother  spoke, 
"Where  did  Rox  go,  dear?" 

"To  the  mine,"  said  Laura.  "He  must  have 
come  just  to  see  Father." 

Mary  glanced  at  her,  met  her  eyes  and  smiled. 
"Come  here,  dear.  Keep  me  company  and  tell  me 
all  about  it." 

Laura  sat  down  on  a  stool  at  her  feet.  "I  was  in 
the  garden  near  the  gate  and  felt  somebody  behind 
me.  I  looked  around  and  there  he  stood  staring  and 
snatching  off  his  hat  and  saying  'I — I  beg  your 
pardon/  just  like  that." 

"Didn't  he  smile  or  look  surprised  ?" 

"No,  he  just  stared  and  got  red.  He  looked  like 
a  nice  boy  the  first  time  he  speaks  to  you." 

"And  then  what  happened?" 
122 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Well,  for  just  a  moment  I  looked  at  him  the  way 
he  was  looking  at  me.  I  didn't  mean  to;  something 
made  me,  and  after  that  I  don't  know  just  why  but 
I  just  couldn't  call  him  Uncle  Rox  and  he  didn't  call 
me  Laura.  I  said,  'You  didn't  know  me/  and  he 
said  no  he  didn't  in  a  queer  tone  as  though  he  felt 
we  ought  to  be  introduced." 

The  frown  had  gone  from  Mrs.  Digby's  face ;  she 
smiled  and  murmured,  "Poor  old  Rox." 

"It's  odd,"  mused  Laura  aloud,  "but  he  didn't 
look  a  bit  old  to-day,  Mother;  he  was  just  like  a  boy 
after  he's  slipped  on  a  dancing-floor  and, — some 
how  I  didn't  laugh  at  him  until  it  was  too  late." 

"Nevertheless,  he's  twice  as  old  as  you,  my  dear," 
said  Mary  practically,  "old  enough  to  be  your 
father." 

"That  would  make  him  thirty-eight,"  said  Laura 
pensively. 

Ellerton  did  not  return  to  the  house  until  Digby 
was  free  to  come  with  him;  he  greeted  Madeleine 
with  a  kiss  and  Junior  with  a  hearty  slap  on  the  back, 
but  after  the  first  laughing  flush  of  welcome  was 
past  he  subsided  into  a  strangely  detached  mood 
which  lasted  through  dinner,  well  into  the  evening 

123 


NOT  ALL 'THE  KING'S  HORSES 

and  at  length  attracted  Digby's  attention  and  made 
him  remark,  "What's  the  matter,  Rox?  You're  as 
solemn  as  an  owl.  What's  worrying  you?" 
i  "Me?  Nothing,"  replied  Ellerton,  straining  his 
ears  to  catch  the  words  of  a  song  which  Laura  was 
just  finishing.  He  left  his  seat,  walked  up  and 
down  the  terrace,  stopped  before  one  of  the  open 
French  windows  to  the  living-room  and  finally 
slipped  through  it.  Laura  was  seated  at  the  piano, 
looking  down  absent-mindedly  at  her  slim  pale 
hands  which  lingered  on  the  notes  she  had  last 
touched. 

"What  is  the  name  of  that  song?"  asked  Ellerton, 
forcing  into  his  voice  a  naturalness  he  did  not  feel. 

She  was  not  startled ;  she  let  her  fingers  slip  from 
the  keys  and  turned  to  him  with  a  welcoming  smile. 
"It's  an  Irish  love  song  called  Happy  Land"  she 
said.  "Would  you  like  me  to  sing  it  again  ?" 

"Please,"  he  begged. 

Bending  over  the  piano  she  struck  a  single  chord, 
then  threw  back  her  head  and  sang.  Her  voice 
lacked  the  power  which  fills  the  farthest  limits  of  an 
auditorium,  but  it  had  a  searching  quality  that  in 
fallibly  reached  the  heart.  Within  the  confines  of 

124 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  sitting-room  it  was  clear,  warm  and  full  in  its 
intonations,  all-possessive.  Ellerton  listened  to  the 
words  of  the  song  with  an  intensity  which  left  them 
printed  for  all  time  on  his  memory. 

"I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  asthore, 

Who  hold  my  heart  and  hand ; 
I  can  not  pledge  thee  gold  galore, 
Nor  more  than  Happy  Land. 

"Thou  hast  a  kingdom  in  my  breast 
Knows  never  bourn  nor  bound ; 
Fly  high,  fly  low,  yet  come  to  rest, 
My  love's  the  world  around. 

"So  much  I  pledge  nor  any  more, 

Here's  all  my  loyal  stand, 
I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  asthore, 
Who  hold  my  heart  and  hand." 

She  finished  and  turned  with  a  light  question  on 
her  lips,  but  did  not  ask  it;  Ellerton  seemed  quite 
unconscious  of  her,  absorbed  in  thoughts  so  deep 
and  so  withdrawn  that  they  left  his  eyes  staring, 
his  face  a  blank.  She  wondered  if  he  had  been 
listening  but  took  no  petty  offense;  because  it  was 
her  nature  to  comfort  and  to  soothe  she  stayed  at 
the  piano  and  played  one  wordless  melody  after 

125 


another  until  she  heard  him  get  up  and  slip  quietly 
away. 

Ellerton  was  still  virilely  young;  his  body  demand 
ed  seven  hours'  sleep  and  three  square  meals  a  day 
and  it  was  his  practise  to  see  that  it  got  them.  On  this 
night,  however,  he  broke  all  rules,  paced  his  room 
until  every  one  else  had  gone  to  bed  and  then  quietly 
opened  the  French  window  leading  to  the  garden 
and  stepped  out.  The  night  was  still,  as  had  been 
the  day,  but  much  cooler;  there  was  a  lift  in  the  air 
that  cleared  the  mind,  charged  the  blood  and  set 
feet  a-longing  for  distant  places.  He  walked  rapidly 
and  far  but  when  toward  dawn  he  found  himself 
back  at  Mountain  Acre  he  was  still  loathe  to  go  in 
and  paced  up  and  down  the  driveway,  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back,  head  hung  low  in  thought. 

At  last  he  came  to  some  decision  which  seemed  to 
clear  the  decks  for  action ;  erect  he  walked  straight 
to  his  room  and  to  bed ;  in  ten  minutes  he  was  sound 
asleep.  On  the  following  day  he  was  nervous,  but 
in  quite  a  different  manner  from  the  night  before; 
he  laughed,  chatted,  entered  into  the  family  circle  as 
of  old  but  always  with  a  reservation  like  one  who 
awaits  his  hour  and  is  doing  his  best  to  kill  the  in 
tervening  time  agreeably.  When  bedtime  came,  he 

126 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

held  back  Digby  and  his  wife  by  a  remark  casual  on 
the  surface  but  sufficient  for  his  purpose. 

"You  two  aren't  going  in  yet,  are  you  ?  It's  early." 

The  three  sat  in  silence  for  some  time  until  Eller- 
ton  felt  he  was  secure  from  interruption,  then  he 
arose  and  paced  up  and  down  before  Richard  and 
Mary,  never  going  more  than  a  couple  of  steps  be 
yond  them  in  either  direction,  puffing  furiously  at  a 
cigarette  and  saying  not  a  word.  Mary's  nerves 
were  the  first  to  give  way. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Rox,"  she  said,  "sit  down.'* 

Ellerton  promptly  obeyed;  with  elbows  on  wide 
spread  knees  he  ran  a  hand  through  his  crisp  dark 
hair ;  for  a  moment  he  stared  at  the  tiles  between  his 
feet,  then  he  looked  up  and  met  four  curious  and 
pitying  eyes  with  a  nervous  twisted  smile.  "Dick," 
he  said,  "I've  tackled  a  hard  job.  I — I  think  I'll  just 
talk  to  you  and — and  Mary  can  listen." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mary  meekly. 

"Oh,  come  now,  Polly,"  protested  Digby.  "You 
know  perfectly  well  what  Rox  means ;  he's  got  some 
thing  on  his  heart  that  requires  man-talk  and  if  you 
weren't  you,  he  wouldn't  even  let  you  hear  it." 

Ellerton  nodded  emphatically.  "That's  it,"  he 
said.  "You  know  me,  Dick.  You  know  every  life 

127 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

I've  ever  lived,  good,  bad  and  indifferent,  and  if 
there's  anything  you  think  you  don't  know,  why  I'm 
ready  to  prove  up.  All  that  has  to  go  by  record  and 
we  needn't  talk  about  it  now.  You  probably  re 
member  too  a  lot  of  the  things  I've  said  about  the 
special  brand  of  fool  that  will  marry  a  girl  half 
his  age." 

Digby  straightened  in  his  chair,  whistled  and 
then  laughed.  "Well,"  he  cried,  "what  do  you  know 
about  this!  Who's  the  happy  girl,  Rox?" 

Ellerton  stared  at  him  with  an  expression  of  com 
miseration  for  his  dullness  and  unbecoming  mirth. 
"Why,  who  do  you  think?"  he  asked. 

"Laura,"  murmured  Mary. 

A  half-finished  cigar  dropped  from  Digby's  fin 
gers,  suddenly  unnerved ;  his  jaw  fell  and  he  sobered 
immediately.  "Laura!"  he  whispered.  "Why, 
Laura — " 

"I  know  everything  you're  going  to  say,"  inter 
rupted  Ellerton,  "and  some  that  you  wouldn't  dare. 
You  think  of  Laura  as  still  one  of  your  babies,  a 
child,  in  a  measure  still  a  mental  dependent,  but  she's 
none  of  those  things ;  God  has  finished  making  the 
of  her.  Don't  ask  "me  how  I  know  it;  I  just 
128 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

do.  Now,  Dick,  the  things  you  wouldn't  dare  think 
are  the  things  I've  said  to  myself  in  days  gone  by 
about  the  physical  limit  of  loyalty  and  that  a  man 
who  marries  half  his  age  deliberately  pawns  his 
wife's  honour  and  crucifies  his  own.  I  still  believe 
it  for  the  common  run  of  women,  but — " 

"But  Laura  is  of  other  flesh,"  interrupted  Mary, 
a  little  bitterly. 

Ellerton  turned  on  her.  "You  have  said  it,"  he 
cried,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  eyes  shining.  "I  don't 
know  what  you  meant  us  to  think  but  you've  said 
the  truth,  put  words  to  the  belief  that  is  deep  in  my 
heart  and  in  Dick's  and  in  yours,  too.  She  is  of 
other  flesh.  Don't  think  I'm  so  old-fashioned  as  to 
have  come  to  you  two  for  permission  to  court  her; 
it  isn't  that.  Because  she  is  so  young  I'm  serving 
warning  on  you  so  that  if  you  don't  like  it,  you  can 
fight  in  the  open  as  I  am  going  to  do!  If  I  can  win 
her,  if  I  can  only  win  herself,  no  consideration  of 
friendship,  or  money  or  old  ties  will  be  too  great  to 
lay  at  her  feet." 

"Here!"  cried  Digby,  recovering  his  usual  sane 
outlook ;  "cut  out  the  hysterics,  Rox,  and  go  to  bed. 
That's  what  Mary  and  I  are  going  to  do.  YouVc 

129 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

put  a  rather  astonishing  proposition  frankly  before 
us;  now  let  us  sleep  on  it.  You  can't  add  anything 
to  what  you've  said  except  poetry  and  if  you  start  in 
on  that  I'll  throw  you  over  the  balustrade;  which 
would  save  us  all  a  lot  of  hard  thinking." 

He  got  up,  laid  his  hands  on  Ellerton's  shoulders 
and  smilingly  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes. 
"Keep  your  mind  even,  old  boy.  Between  you  and 
Mary  and  me  there's  something  that  Rox  Ellerton 
can't  break.  It's  just  possible  that  she  and  I  may 
decide  to  play  what  cards  we  have  against  yours,  in 
which  case  we'll  tell  you;  but  as  you  said  we  both 
know  Laura.  Perhaps  she'd  make  us  feel  like  fools 
if  we  tried  to  teach  her  how  to  play  her  lone  hand 
and  the  chances  are  we'll  have  sense  enough  to  stay 
out  of  the  game  from  this  minute  on." 

Ellerton  asked  no  more ;  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Digby 
and  held  out  his  hand.  "Good  night,  Mary.  You 
won't  hold  the  madman  I've  been  against  me,  will 
you  ?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"No,  Rox,"  said  Mary.    "I'm  with  Dick,  always." 

Within  two  days  he  cornered  her  to  demand  what 
on  earth  it  was  possible  and  proper  for  a  suitor  to 
give  a  girl  in  a  land  where  there  were  no  English 

130 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

bookshops,  no  bonbons  and  where  flowers  were 
spread  by  an  impartial  God  in  a  limitless  carpet  for 
the  feet  of  the  just  and  the  unjust  to  tread  upon. 
Mary  laughed.  "None  of  that,  Rox,"  she  said.  "If 
I'm  out  of  the  game,  I'm  out  of  it.  Fight  your  own 
battle,  but  don't  tread  on.  my  toes." 

The  courting  of  Laura  afforded  much  carefully 
concealed  amusement  to  the  family,  to  herself  more 
than  to  any  other  of  its  members ;  not  until  Ellerton 
was  well  on  his  way  did  it  begin  to  dawn  on  his  ob 
servers  that  he  had  laid  his  plans  with  all  the  fore 
thought  and  meticulous  attention  to  details  of  a 
Napoleon  preparing  a  campaign  for  the  overthrow 
of  an  empire.  In  the  matter  of  gifts  alone  he 
showed  a  power  of  imagination  for  which  Mary  had 
never  given  him  credit.  Once  it  was  a  bit  of  bro 
cade,  a  cope,  so  beautiful,  so  old  yet  intact,  that  it 
seemed  in  itself  a  worthy  and  lasting  bloom  on  the 
fairest  of  all  religions. 

He  brought  it  out  and  draped  it  over  a  chair. 
"How  do  your  toes  feel  about  this  ?"  he  asked  Mary. 
"Picked  it  up  in  the  Thieves'  Market  for  a  song." 

Again  it  was  a  pair  of  bronze  candle-sticks  of  un 
usual  design  or  a  bit  of  genuine  Puebla  ware  or  a 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

painted  fan  frail  as  the  wings  of  a  moth  but  yet 
outlasting  by  generations  the  woman  who  first  cast 
a  murdering  glance  or  blew  a  kiss  from  its  shelter. 
To  this  series,  stretched  over  a  period  of  months,  he 
added  a  tiny  eagle  of  gold,  half  an  inch  across  its 
outstretched  wings,  six  feathers  to  each  wing,  six 
to  the  tail,  a  monstrous  head,  thick-beaked  and 
crested,  a  hollow,  squat  body  and  beneath  the  tail 
two  fixed  rings  in  line,  which  showed  the  long  wear 
of  a  cord.  Laura  was  fascinated  by  the  toy;  she 
held  it  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  turned  it  this  way 
and  that,  discovered  that  the  slimmest  of  her  chains 
would  pass  through  the  rings  and  thereafter  wore 
it  as  a  locket  To  Mary  it  appeared  the  most  inno 
cent  of  Ellerton's  gifts  until  one  night  it  drew 
Digby's  attention  as  he  kissed  Laura  good  night. 
The  two  younger  children  had  long  since  been  re 
turned  to  school  and  college. 

"Is  your  little  eagle  wished  on  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,  indeed,"  cried  Laura,  flushing  at  the  smile 
which  accompanied  the  question. 

"Then  leave  it  with  me,"  begged  her  father. 
"You've  never  given  me  a  chance  really  to  look 
at  it." 

132 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"You  may  keep  it  for  a  week,"  said  Laura,  as  she 
passed  the  chain  over  her  head ;  but  she  waited. 

Digby  took  the  trinket  beneath  a  lamp  and  exam 
ined  it  closely  with  his  naked  eye,  then  he  reached  for 
a  reading-glass  and  finally  went  into  the  house  to  fetch 
a  microscope.  Ellerton  had  begun  to  show  signs  of 
nervousness  and  now  thought  he  saw  his  chance. 

"I  think  I'll  go  for  a  bit  of  a  walk,'*  he  said  and 
started. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Rox,  please,"  said  Mary. 
"There's  something  I  wanted  to  ask  you.  I've  for 
gotten  what  about,  but  I'll  think  of  it  again  in  a 
moment." 

Before  she  could  remember  the  important  matter 
that  had  slipped  her  mind  Digby  came  back,  still 
wearing  the  monocle  microscope  in  his  eye,  a  sign 
sufficient  in  itself  to  prove  to  his  wife  how  deeply  he 
was  moved  out  of  his  habitual  calm. 

"Rox,"  he  said,  "this  thing  is  annealed." 

"No !"  cried  Ellerton,  trying  his  best  to  show  sur 
prise.  "Let  me  have  a  look." 

Mary  and  Laura  glanced  at  each  other  with  puz 
zled  eyes,  as  though  sharing  on  an  equal  footing 
thoughts  of  the  foolishness  of  men. 

133 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"What  if  it  is  annealed,  Dick?"  asked  Mrs.  Digby. 
"What  difference  does  it  make?" 

"A  difference,"  said  Digby  still  engrossed,  "of 
three  hundred  years,  perhaps  five.  Look  at  it,  my 
dear."  He  laid  it  in  her  hand.  "You  can  hardly 
tell  it  with  the  naked  eye  but  the  thing  isn't  sol 
dered;  it's  built  up  from  a  single  nugget  of  gold, 
annealed  into  its  intricate  shape.  It  certainly  dates 
from  before  the  Conquest." 

"Does  that  mean  it's  worth  a  great  deal?"  asked 
Mary. 

"You  can't  measure  a  thing  like  that  in  money," 
said  Digby.  "There's  ten  dollars'  worth  of  gold  in 
it;  the  right  collector  of  Aztecana  would  give  thou 
sands  to  own  it" 

"Something  has  happened  to  my  toes,"  said  Mary, 
"they  feel  crushed." 

"Perhaps  they've  gone  to  sleep,"  said  Laura  in 
quick  sympathy. 

"Perhaps  you  had  better,  too,"  replied  Mary. 
"It's  getting  very  late.  Leave  the  eagle  behind,  dear ; 
Rox  didn't  know  what  he  was  giving  away." 

Laura  sighed,  slipped  the  trinket  off  her  chain  and 
handed  it  to  Ellerton.  He  took  it  and  as  she  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  smile  that  begged  his  forgiveness 

134 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

for  the  hurt,  his  eyes  suddenly  flamed  as  on  the  day 
he  had  found  her  in  the  garden ;  they  possessed  her 
own,  established  a  swirling  ambient  of  emotion 
which  made  her  feel  faint  yet  sustained  as  though 
he  and  she  were  in  suspension  from  the  world,  iso 
lated,  beyond  the  reach  of  any  harm  that  was  not  in 
themselves.  The  proof  that  he  felt  that  same  divi 
sion  was  in  his  words  when  he  spoke  as  if  they  two 
were  alone. 

"They  can't  understand,"  he  said  with  low  inten 
sity,  "that  every  gift  I  bring  you  must  have  some 
thing  of  me,  of  what  I  believe  to  be  the  best, 
something  that  will  show  you  my  measure  of  values ; 
frailty  stealing  a/  day  from  eternity,  enduring  beauty 
and  the  little  things  which  are  without  price." 

"I  know,"  murmured  Laura  and,  startled  at  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice,  tore  her  eyes  from  his  and 
fled.  He  turned  and  marched  from  the  terrace  into 
the  garden,  erect,  buoyant,  as  though  he  were  keep 
ing  step  to  the  Song  of  Songs. 

"Well !"  exclaimed  Digby,  staring  at  Mary,  "you 
certainly  turned  over  the  applecart." 

"Who  could  have  believed  he  would  have  had  the 
impertinence?"  asked  Mary  ruefully  in  self-defense. 
"I  wonder  where  he  thought  we  were." 

135 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Out  of  it,  my  dear,"  said  Digby,  rising  and 
knocking  the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  "Entirely  out 
of  it." 

For  a  time  Ellerton  brought  no  more  gifts;  his 
activity  took  an  entirely  new  and  puzzling  direction 
which  consisted  in  never  coming  to  Mountain  Acre 
unaccompanied.  He  would  write  or  wire  for  per 
mission  and  bring  one  after  another  of  the  wide 
circle  of  young  men  who  were  proud  to  be  counted 
even  in  the  outer  circle  of  his  acquaintance  and 
would  carry  his  generosity  to  the  length  of  leaving 
Laura  alone  with  each  of  the  callow  youths  for  hours 
at  a  time.  At  first  she  was  puzzled,  then  bored  and 
finally  troubled ;  she  went  to  her  mother. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "please  stop  them  coming."1 
"Who,  dear  ?    The  very  young  men  ?" 
Laura  nodded.     "I — I  can't  understand  it;   do 
you?     Is  it  something  we  can  laugh  at?    If  it  is, 
please  tell  me.    Do  you  understand  what  he's  driv 
ing  at  now?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  "I  think  I  do.  I'm  beginning 
to  see,  dear,  that  Rox  has  depths  I  never  gave  him 
credit  for ;  he'll  be  glad  when  I  tell  him  we  can't  be 
bothered  any  more." 

136 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

To  a  man  such  an  involute  reply  would  have 
meant  nothing,  but  to  Laura  it  was  quite  satisfying. 
"Will  he?"  she  asked  and  went  to  look  for  Ellerton. 
She  drew  him  out  into  the  garden  and  watching  his 
face  whispered,  "I've  asked  Mother  to  please  stop 
them  coming ;  the  boys.  Do  you  mind  ?" 

The  effect  of  the  dramatic  question  provided  all 
she  had  hoped  for  in  the  way  of  entertainment ;  El- 
lerton's  eyes  gleamed,  he  blushed,  his  mouth  opened 
and  shut  without  saying  anything;  he  was  embar 
rassed.  "Don't  tease  me,"  his  pose  seemed  to  beg 
without  words  and  then  he  suddenly  regained  poise 
and  voice.  "Isn't  the  garden  lovely?"  he  asked. 
"Every  flower  under  the  sun,  almost" 

The  mischief  died  abruptly  out  of  Laura's  eyes. 
"There's  never  trailing  arbutus,"  she  said,  as  though 
the  thought  made  the  world  empty. 

"No,"  said  Ellerton,  "that's  so.  Do  you  love  that 
flower?  Did  you  know  that  somebody  has  called  it 
the 'Hope  of  Heaven'?" 

"No,  I  never  knew  that,"  said  Laura  softly,  "but 
we've  all  felt  it,  haven't  we?  In  a  month  girls  at 
home  will  be  looking  for  it  in  the  bare  woods.  Did 
you  ever  hang  a  May  basket  ?" 

137 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Never,"  said  he,  feeling  a  sudden  spasm  of  jeal 
ousy..  "Did  you?" 

Laura  shook  her  head  in  denial  and  laughed;  she 
wondered  if  there  would  ever  come  a  time  when  she 
would  not  laugh  at  his  quick  betrayals  of  emotion  so 
in  contrast  to  the  reserve  of  his  measured  words.  It 
was  difficult  to  associate  the  man  he  had  been  during 
the  last  few  weeks  with  the  eruption  which  had 
blazoned  to  all  the  world  and  his  wife  in  the  persons 
of  Digby  and  Mary  things  from  deep  down  in  the 
heart,  allegiance  to  frailty  stealing  a  march  on  eter 
nity,  to  beauty  triumphant  over  soiling  associations, 
to  the  worth  of  a  trifle  put  out  at  compound  interest 
through  centuries  of  obliterated  adventure.  That 
outburst  of  sheer  and  desperate  sincerity  had  laid  its 
lasting  grip  on  her  imagination ;  she  wondered  if  his 
eyes  could  possess  hers  as  they  had  on  that  night  at 
will  or  if  such  moments  came  to  disturb  the  human 
breast  only  by  favour  of  occasional  gods.  She  was 
growing  impatient  of  his  long  restraint  and  from  the 
day  they  had  spoken  of  arbutus  turned  from  him 
more  than  once  when  his  eyes  begged  what  his 
tongue  failed  to  utter. 

During  four  weeks  he  abandoned  Mountain  Acre 
138 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

and  when  at  last  he  returned,  bearing  with  the  as 
sistance  of  his  chauffeur  a  large  heavy  box  which 
they  placed  on  the  tiled  floor  of  the  terrace,  she  was 
prepared  to  punish  him  for  his  neglect  with  a  severe 
and  persevering  cruelty  as  foreign  to  her  nature  as 
recriminations  from  a  flower.  She  ignored  the  box 
and  clung  to  her  mother's  side  with  a  pertinacity 
which  baffled  and  enraged  him.  Digby  finally  put  a 
period  to  the  situation  out  of  pity,  but  without  tact. 

"What  have  you  brought,  Rox?  A  new  spring 
hat?" 

"No,"  Ellerton  answered  shortly,  cut  the  strong 
cord  with  which  the  box  was  bound  and  lifted  the 
cover.  Instantly  a  matchless  fragrance  leaped  from 
confinement  and  floated  out  upon  the  air.  Digby 
and  Mary  threw  up  their  heads  with  a  movement 
oddly  similar,  their  nostrils  dilated  and  into  their 
eyes  sprang  the  same  look  of  haunting  reminiscence, 
but  puzzled,  unbelieving;  Laura's  body  went  sud 
denly  tense,  then  she  arose,  flew  to  the  box  and  fell 
on  her  knees  beside  it.  Her  father  and  mother 
joined  her  and  peered  over  her  shoulder  at  a  deep 
sod  of  earth  half  a  yard  square  which  had  been  lifted 
bodily  from  some  damp  nook  in  the  woods  of  south- 

139 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ern  Jersey,  still  strewn  with  the  sodden  leaves  of 
winter,  twigs  and  shoots  of  budding  grass  but  bear 
ing  on  its  humble  bosom  a  first  sunburst  of  the  Hope 
of  Heaven,  a  single,  living,  clustering,  all-pervasive 
spray  of  trailing  arbutus. 

Laura  suddenly  collapsed,  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  sobbed  her  heart  away.  There  was  some 
thing  pitiful  in  the  spasmodic  heaving  of  her  slim 
shoulders,  something  so  intimate,  so  closely  allied  to 
the  unadorned  sources  of  emotion,  so  redolent  of  the 
stripped  privacy  of  the  individual  soul  that  Digby 
felt  abashed  and  Mary  afraid  as  though  their  feet 
had  flippantly  intruded  upon  a  moment  which  should 
have  been  consecrated  from  them.  Ellerton  stepped 
forward,  brushed  them  aside  and  sank  to  his  knees 
beside  Laura.  They  stole  away  swiftly,  panic- 
stricken  lest  they  should  hear  and  despise  themselves 
forever  as  pilferers  of  a  sacred  hour. 

Laura  seemed  unconscious  of  the  hands  that  lifted 
her,  turned  her  around  and  brought  her  head  to  rest ; 
all  the  springs  of  volition  appeared  to  have  dried 
within  her;  her  body  was  lax,  pliant,  but  warm  and 
throbbing  to  the  storm  that  racked  it.  Ellerton  did 
not  speak;  he  held  her  gently,  his  eyes  wide  and 

140 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

fixed,  his  face  set,  his  hands  trembling  in  a  willed 
effort  at  restraint.  Presently  she  stirred,  stopped 
crying,  raised  her  arms  slowly  until  they  encircled 
his  neck,  pressed  her  face  against  his  shoulder  and 
murmured,  "Oh,  Rox,  it's  too  much.  I — I  can't 
stand  it." 

The  unmeditated  use  of  his  given  name,  slipping 
from  her  lips  so  readily  and  in  appeal,  galvanized 
him  into  action  as  though  it  had  been  a  signal  tensely 
awaited;  his  set  lips  broke  into  a  smile,  his  eyes 
softened  and  dropped  to  her  half-hidden  face,  his 
arms  tightened  and  tightened  about  her  until,  gasp 
ing,  she  cried  out  and  struggled  in  self-defense, 
"Rox,  you're  hurting  me." 

"Then  look  up,"  he  commanded. 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  looked  into  his  eyes, 
not  fearfully,  not  merely  curious  of  an  undiscovered 
world,  but  with  an  abandon  that  conceded  and  de 
manded  a  mutual  surrender  of  the  utmost  strong 
holds  of  the  hidden  heart. 

"Are  you  mine?"  he  whispered. 

"You  know  that  I  am,"  she  answered. 

He  kissed  her  lips  and  eyes  and  hair  with  the 
measured  ardour  of  one  who  knows  that  conquest 

141 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

by  assault  too  often  kills  the  perfect  fruit  of  love. 
The  months  she  had  spent  in  his  thoughts  or  at  his 
side,  while  they  had  absorbed  him  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  but  his  single  purpose  of  possession,  had  not 
blinded  him  to  the  peril  of  bruising  that  frailty 
which  was  her  greatest  strength,  the  quality  of  ten 
derness  in  all  her  thoughts  and  acts  and  ways.  He 
arose,  lifted  her,  led  her  to  a  big  chair  at  the  edge  of 
the  terrace  and  placed  her  there,  enthroned ;  then  he 
stood  before  her  and  carefully  told  her  all  the  things 
that  a  woman  has  a  right  to  hear  from  a  lover's  lips. 
The  more  he  said,  the  older,  wiser  and  more  smiling 
grew  Laura's  eyes. 

"There's  only  one  thing  I've  wondered  about," 
she  interrupted  at  length,  "and  that's  why  you've 
been  so  cruelly  slow  about  it  all.  Didn't  you  know 
that  long-ago  first  time  in  the  garden  or  have  you 
been  afraid  ?" 

"I  knew,"  replied  Rox  earnestly,  "I  knew  that  I 
could  take  some  of  you  but  I  was  afraid  of  those 
parts  of  you  I  would  have  to  leave  unwon.  Laura,  I 
want  you  all.  You  don't  know  how  terrified  I've 
been  of  marriage,  not  because  of  anything  that  is  in 

142 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

me,  but  because  of  what  I've  seen.  There  are  quite 
a  number  of  people  in  the  world  who  are  made  for 
the  yoke  and  plod  along  quite  contentedly  beside 
whatever  mate  they've  chanced  upon,  but  leaving 
those  aside  I  don't  know  a  single  marriage  among 
my  friends,  except  your  father's  and  mother's, 
that  isn't  half-baked,  soggy  or  threatening  to  crum 
ble.  One  in  ten  of  the  women  seized  in  that  trap 
is  a  martyr ;  the  rest  become  charnel-houses  of  men's 
ideals,  for  woman  is  the  highest  and  the  lowest  of 
God's  creatures." 

He  stared  at  Laura,  wondering  how  far  her  inex 
perienced  thought  could  follow  him;  she  smiled  at 
the  trouble  in  his  eyes  and  said,  "Don't  worry  any 
more,  dear.  You've  taken  a  long  time  to  do  it,  but 
you've  won  me,  all  of  me,  Rox.  Won't  you  believe 
me  now,  this  minute,  for  always  ?" 

"I  will,"  he  said,  "but  there's  just  one  thing  more 
I  must  tell  you  before  I  begin  to  make  love  to  you 
for  all  my  life  and  it's  this.  You  are  nineteen  years 
younger  than  I  am ;  that's  a  debt  that  is  beyond  pay 
ment  in  kind  by  any  man,  but  if  ever  you  feel  that 
I  have  failed  to  meet  the  interest  on  it,  don't  be 

143 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

afraid  to  tell  me,  for  I  promise  you  by  this  hour  that 
I  shall  cut  myself  away." 

Laura's  face  paled  and  tears  came  to  her  eyes ;  she 
arose,  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  looked 
into  his  face.  "Rox,"  she  said,  "your  mind  has  been 
touched  by  horrible  things ;  I'm  sorry  for  it,  but  that 
is  all  behind  me  and  I  shall  never  look  back  even 
through  your  eyes.  As  for  cutting  yourself  away,  I 
am  only  a  girl,  untaught,  weak  too,  but  never  afraid ; 
you  will  always  be  able  to  kill  the  thing  in  me  that 
is  you,  you  can  never  release  it  because  it  is  already 
bound  to  my  heart  with  bands  that  aren't  of  your 
making  alone.  Now  come  and  let  me  sing  Happy 
Land  to  you  as  I've  never  sung  it  before." 

He  put  his  trembling  arms  around  her  and  held 
her  close.  "You  can't,"  he  said.  "You  can  never 
sing  it  again  as  on  that  first  time  when  it  became  my 
creed.  Sweetheart,  it's  a  selfish  song,  written  by  a 
man  for  men  with  lots  of  take  and  just  a  little  give, 
but  it's  the  cry  of  the  heart  triumphant  over  the 
transcendent  fear  of  betrayal,  a  confession  that  in 
love  there's  no  middle  ground  left  between  belief 
and  death." 

144 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"But  it's  not  all  selfish,"  whispered  Laura. 

"No,  not  all,"  he  conceded. 

"There's  just  a  little  bit,  the  biggest  bit,  that  we 
can  say  together,  'Fly  high,  fly  low,  yet  come  to  rest, 
my  love's  the  world  around/  " 


"Father,  awake!    Thou  art  ever  sleeping.    Tell  me, 
what  is  knowledge?" 

"An  inch-worm  climbing  the  Peak  of  Popo" 
"And  storm?" 

"The  Peak  of  Popo  roaring  at  the  inch-worm." 
"And  man?" 

"Is  thy  mind,  then,  a  grasshopper?     Man  is  that 
which  leadeth  the  worm  to  split  its  sides  with  laughter." 

"And—?" 

"Enough;  I  would  sleep" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  wedding  of  Rox  and  Laura  took  place  at 
Mountain  Acre  immediately  after  the  return 
of  Mary  from  a  hurried  trip  to  fetch  trousseau  and 
the  younger  children.  It  was  a  representative  gath 
ering  for  while  the  Digbys  had  lived  quiet  and 
secluded  lives  they  had  made  many  true  friends  of 
like  tastes  in  their  wanderings  among  those  to  whom 
the  City  was  still  largely  a  point  of  passage,  and  El- 
lerton  in  addition  to  this  group  possessed  ties  of 
varying  strength  with  almost  every  man,  woman  and 
child  in  the  colony  which  made  of  the  Capital  a  gay, 
almost  kaleidoscopic,  caravansary.  A  special  train 
brought  to  the  town  in  the  valley  such  guests  as  did 
not  come  by  motor;  straw -bedded  wagons  with 
benches  fixed  to  resist  the  steep  incline  and  the  as 
saults  of  unrestrained  gaiety,  drawn  by  six  mules 
each,  provided  the  final  relay  to  the  house. 

To  many  of  these  people  Mountain  Acre  was  a 
revelation  out  of  an  empty  sky;  none  who  had  not 
seen  it  could  have  dreamed  so  marvelous  a  conjunc- 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

tion  of  location,  intrinsic  beauty  and  boundless  out 
look  united  to  form  a  setting  for  the  unique  atmos 
phere  of  a  home  welded  to  and  inseparable  from  the 
lives  of  its  inmates.  The  effect  produced  was  as 
varied  as  the  natures  of  the  visitors;  some  caught 
their  breath  and  sat  for  a  moment  with  closed  eyes ; 
others  saw  without  seeing  and  hurried  on  greedy  to 
register  the  last  nook  and  cranny  of  the  premises  on 
the  over-crowded  yet  eternally  empty  tablets  of  their 
minds;  others,  a  few,  had  come  to  see  Rox  Ellerton 
face  to  face  with  marriage  and  the  hidden  girl  who 
had  brought  the  scoffer  to  book ;  still  others,  the  vast 
majority,  were  too  gay  for  ulterior  motives.  These 
had  come  to  have  a  good  time,  found  it  awaiting 
them  and  saw  all  things  though  blurred  in  outline 
through  rosy  glasses. 

By  the  immemorial  right  of  her  white  veil  Laura 
was  the  belle  of  the  occasion  but  she  was  pressed 
hard  by  Madeleine  who  floated  through  laughter, 
dance  and  song  like  an  elf  cast  adrift  amid  a  throng 
of  mortals  and  desperately  intent  on  holding  her 
own.  From  early  morning,  when  she  had  awakened 
Mary  to  propound  in  all  seriousness  the  difficulty 
of  settling  to  her  satisfaction  the  attitude  she  should 

148 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

assume  to  her  impending  brother-in-law  until  late 
night  when  she  could  no  longer  hold  up  her  long 
lashes  nor  keep  her  ears  open  to  receive  her  eight 
eenth  proposal  of  marriage,  she  rode  in  an  ecstasy 
the  torrent  of  Life  spelled  with  a  big  L  and  released 
with  a  suddenness  which  all  but  shattered  her  confi 
dence  in  her  ability  to  weather  unaided  any  storm. 

Who  but  Madeleine  could  have  shaken  her  mother 
awake  to  ask  her,  with  the  immeasurable  gravity  of 
sixteen  years,  ''Mother  dear,  Mother,  please,  what 
should  I  do  about  Uncle  Rox?  I've  always  called 
him  Uncle  Rox,  but  you  see,  after  to-day  things  will 
be  different,  won't  they?  I  don't  want  to  do  the 
wrong  thing  in  front  of  all  those  people  and  if  he's 
my  brother,  why — " 

Or  who  but  Madeleine  could  have  come  impul 
sively  to  the  same  source  of  all  wisdom  and  regard 
less  of  other  grown-ups  declared  as  soberly, 
"Mother,  Mr.  Trawley  has  just  proposed  to  me.  I 
thought  he  was  joking,  but  he  said  he  certainly  isn't; 
that  if  Rox  can  get  away  with  it  he  guesses  he  can. 
I  asked  him  should  I  speak  to  you  and  he  said  of 
course,  so  I  guess  he  does  really  mean  it,  and  /  don't 
know  what  to  do."  Three  ladies  and  Mrs.  Digby 

149 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

answered  by  a  single  impulse  and  in  one  voice,  "Re 
fuse  him,  darling." 

This  incident  could  not  be  suppressed  and  so  imi 
tative  of  bees  around  a  pot  of  unadulterated  honey 
are  mortal  men  before  the  shrine  of  budding  beauty 
that  after  Trawley  blazed  the  way,  to  be  alone  with 
Madeleine  for  the  space  of  half  a  dance  was  suffi 
cient  to  bring  the  stiffest  neck  in  search  of  halter. 
Earnest  and  unsmiling,  they  proposed  to  her  singly, 
by  couples  and  finally  in  a  group.  She  stood  on  a 
step  leading  from  pergola  to  sunken  lawn  and  stared 
down  at  their  grave  faces.  "If  you  are  joking,"  she 
said,  with  a  threatening  flash  of  her  brown  eyes,  "I 
might  tell  you  that  I  said  damn  once."  With  this 
veiled  warning  as  to  the  quality  of  temper  she  kept 
in  store,  she  turned  in  a  swirl  of  pleated  skirts  and 
marched  soberly  away. 

That  night  when  Ellerton  and  Laura  and  all  but 
the  few  house  guests  were  gone,  when  Digby  and 
Mary  had  between  them  carried  the  sleeping  Made 
leine  into  her  room,  undressed  and  rolled  her  into 
bed  like  some  flushed  log  cast  up  by  a  magic  sea, 
when  the  soft-footed  servants  had  brushed  away  all 
signs  of  revelry  and  the  echo  of  the  last  good  night 

150 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

shouted  down  from  the  mountain  road  had  died 
away,  a  group  of  men  gathered  on  the  terrace  for  a 
final  Dock-and-Doris :  Trawley  of  the  Colina  Mines, 
pink-cheeked,  white-haired  but  with  youth  packed 
into  his  twinkling  blue  eyes;  Dawton  of  the  Power 
Company,  dark,  young,  black-browed,  slow  in  move 
ment  and  in  speech,  sure  in  judgment;  Temple, 
president  of  the  Inter-Continental  Bank,  six  feet 
of  beef  and  bone,  a  plunger  self-bridled  under  con 
tinual  protest  with  the  hard  bit  of  caution;  all  old 
friends.  Digby  was  there,  of  course,  and  Richard, 
Jr.,  emancipated  for  a  night  to  the  company  of 
grown  men. 

The  boy  was  too  young,  the  men  too  absorbed  in 
putting  their  thoughts  into  words  to  discern  the  out 
standing  significance  of  two  omissions  of  the  talk 
that  followed.  It  ranged  the  length  and  width  of  a 
great  country,  ebbed  and  flowed  with  detractions 
balanced  against  astounding  predictions,  bordered  a 
wide  sweep  of  technical  appreciations,  descended  to 
incident,  rose  to  generalities,  held  in  the  main  to  a 
high  course  of  satisfaction  with  the  present,  hope  for 
the  future;  but  it  did  not  touch  on  politics  and  it 
never  looked  back.  Success  has  no  past,  needs  no 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

policy;  failure  broods  over  what-might-have-beens, 
reminiscence  marks  the  finished  road.  These  men 
were  all  looking  ahead,  they  rode  a  wave,  and  some 
thing  of  their  exhilaration  stirred  the  spirit  of  the 
boy  who  listened,  stained  his  cheeks  with  red  and 
fixed  his  eyes  to  the  question,  "Who  would  not  be 
a  builder?" 

Toward  the  end  of  his  holiday  he  spent  a  whole 
day  with  his  father  at  the  mine,  the  scene  now  of 
tremendous  activity  for  the  work  of  moving  the 
entire  plant  to  the  vicinity  of  the  new  pit-head  where 
a  deep  shaft  was  being  sunk  was  well  under  way. 
In  a  few  hours  he  seemed  to  himself  to  have 
learned  so  much  which  books  could  never  teach  that 
he  approached  his  father  in  the  eternal  manner  of 
boys  the  world  over  with  pondered  wisdom  as  to 
the  advantages  of  leaving  college  at  once  that  he 
might  plunge  the  sooner  into  actual  productive 
labour.  He  repeated  verbatim  whole  sentences  from 
the  one  talk  of  the  giants  he  had  been  permitted  to 
hear  in  order  to  prove  his  mature  appreciation  of  the 
work  to  be  done  and  the  few  there  were  to  do  it 

Digby  did  not  answer  at  once;  he  led  the  way 
silently  along  the  path  to  Mountain  Acre  but  before 

152 


they  reached  the  turn  and  at  the  same  spot  where 
he  had  stood  seven  years  before  and  dreamed  of  the 
coming  of  this  day  he  stopped,  sat  down  on  a  nar 
row  shelf  of  rock  and  looked  his  boy  over  with 
brooding  yet  speculative  eyes  and  then  turned  them 
toward  the  valley.  "Son,"  he  said,  "sit  down  here 
by  me  where  you  can  look  at  something  bigger  than 
a  man ;  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Junior  did  as  he  was  bidden  and  his  father  con 
tinued.  "I'm  glad  you  heard  us  talking  that  night 
and  proud  of  you  for  remembering  what  was  said, 
but  there  were  a  couple  of  things  way  down  under 
the  surface  that  you  missed :  one  was  the  silent  sigh 
in  the  heart  of  every  man  who  spoke  for  what  he 
failed  to  learn  when  he  was  young  enough;  the 
other, — but  I'll  tell  you  about  that  later.  Your 
father  and  his  friends  are  a  hardbitten  crowd,  in  a 
small  way  we've  mixed  in  some  very  big  things.  Do 
you  see  that  pda'o  up  by  the  gear-head  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What's  he  pushing?" 

Junior  looked  around  to  see  if  his  father  was 
serious.  "A  wheelbarrow,  sir." 

"Exactly,"   said  Digby,   "and  over  his  head   is 

153 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

swinging  a  half-ton-skip  on  the  ropeway.  Well, 
boy,  the  wheelbarrow  was  a  big  thing  in  its  day,  so 
was  the  ropeway,  so  are  some  of  my  chums  to  your 
eyes;  each  thing  in  its  day.  We  pass,  the  instru 
ments  we  use  pass,  too,  but  the  principles  of  energy 
never  die.  What  do  you  know  about  kinetics,  what 
can  you  tell  me  of  the  motion  of  a  solid  of  revolu 
tion,  of  moving  axes  of  reference,  of  the  stability  of 
equilibrium?  I'm  not  trying  to  frighten  you,  but 
until  you  can  answer  those  questions,  at  least  in  part, 
you  can't  describe  the  wheel  of  a  barrow  or  tell  why 
its  first  revolution  bridged  a  thousand  years." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  his  eyes  fixed  back 
through  the  centuries  as  if  in  homage  to  the  un 
known  who  had  first  rounded  a  block  of  wood, 
burned  a  whole  through  its  center  and  lightened  for 
all  time  the  burdens  of  beasts  and  men.  "The  hard 
est  thing  for  youth  to  do,"  he  finally  continued,  "is 
to  escape  from  the  immature  perspective  of  its 
schoolmates.  You  must  learn  to  keep  an  even  mind 
if  you  hope  to  balance  values.  Remember  the  wheel, 
a  thing  so  self-evident,  so  apparently  crude  that 
you've  never  before  given  it  a  thought  and  every 
time  you  see  lever  and  fulcrum  at  work  or  block 
and  tackle  or  a  capstan,  all  homely  familiar  things, 

154 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

stop  to  think  of  the  profound  principles  which  gave 
them  birth  and  made  of  them  the  highlights,  the 
stars  that  shine  eternally  on  the  passing  history  of 
man,  the  builder." 

He  turned  and  looked  into  his  son's  eyes,  wide, 
interested,  but  puzzled  in  their  striving  to  fix  sug 
gested  outlines  so  far  beyond  the  comprehension  of 
his  immaturity.  "Junior,  you're  young,"  continued 
his  father,  "you're  not  too  old  to  take  something 
from  me  on  faith  and  I  tell  you  that  the  men  of  your 
generation,  at  least  in  our  profession,  who  hope  to 
hold  their  heads  above  the  waves  of  an  angry  indus 
trial  sea  must  have  their  feet  set  in  the  eternal  prin 
ciples  of  energy.  The  four  estates  of  man  you've 
read  about  are  leveling  fast ;  the  world  may  have  to 
do  without  genius  but  it  can't  down  knowledge.  Go 
back  to  college  and  think  of  it  as  a  prep  school ;  go  to 
tech  and  imagine  you're  an  apprentice;  then  come 
out  and  fight  for  your  place  in  the  guild  that  has 
done  more  than  any  other  to  bring  material  peace  on 
earth.  Study,  boy;  not  because  you  have  to  but 
because  it  isn't  in  you  to  be  one  of  the  world's  peons, 
working  for  nothing  beyond  a  wage.  Will  you  ?" 

Junior  nodded ;  he  could  not  speak,  for  the  spirit 
of  his  father's  words  even  though  some  of  them 

155 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

were  Greek  to  his  understanding  entered  his  heart 
and  swelled  it  so  that  it  clogged  his  throat. 

"And  now  there's  that  other  thing,"  continued 
Digby,  turning  his  eyes  away,  "that  I  said  you'd 
missed  in  the  talk  that  night  because  it  was  buried 
out  of  sight.  It's  the  pull  of  home  on  the  heart,  not 
home  here  around  the  corner,  but  of  that  wider 
meaning  which  lies  under  the  flag  of  our  country.  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  I'm  running  down  the  land 
that's  given  us  food  and  shelter  for  so  many  years 
but  in  the  same  breath  I  don't  want  you  ever  to  for 
get  that  I've  paid  our  board  and  filled  a  hundred 
mouths  for  every  meal  we've  taken."  He  paused, 
and  then  continued,  "Did  you  ever  wonder  why 
you're  a  Lone  Star  and  Madeleine  a  Native  Son  and 
Laura  a  Yankee  ?" 

"No,"  said  Junior,  smiling. 

"Because  I  sent  your  mother  across  the  border 
every  time.  It  cost  a  lot  of  money  for  us  in  those 
days  but  not  the  tenth  part  of  what  it's  costing  to 
keep  you  at  school ;  yet  I  don't  grudge  it,  not  a  cent 
of  it,  because  the  allegiance  I  owe  to  home  isn't  paid 
to  a  bit  of  bunting  alone  but  to  standards  of  honour, 
of  character,  of  personal  cleanliness,  of  national 

156 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

probity  and  strength  such  as  can  be  found  nowhere 
else  at  the  same  high  level  of  average.  Take  every 
year  at  home  where  you  were  born  that  you  can  get 
without  shirking ;  keep  clean  in  mind  and  body ;  for 
get  the  leprous  if  you  can,  remember  leprosy." 

He  got  up  and  laid  his  hands  on  the  boy's  shoul 
ders.  "That's  all;  every  word  I've  got  to  say,"  he 
added,  "but,  Junior,  if  you  love  your  mother  and  me 
remember  it  all,  even  what  you  can't  quite  under 
stand  just  now." 

Junior  had  stood  up  when  his  father  arose;  their 
eyes  met  in  a  long  look  of  affection  but  neither 
spoke  further,  Digby  because  he  had  said  all  that 
was  in  his  heart  to  say,  Junior  because  he  felt  the 
embarrassment  of  youth  face  to  face  with  a  first  mo 
ment  of  mutual  and  shared  intimacy  with  a  parent. 
As  is  the  way  with  fathers,  Digby  underestimated 
his  son's  capacity  for  understanding;  he  would  have 
been  amazed  could  he  have  read  the  boy's  mind  and 
found  there  only  the  warm  thought,  "I'm  a  man. 
Father  wouldn't  have  said  all  that  to  me  in  front  of 
the  girls,  not  even  before  Mother.  He  and  I  are 
men."  Side  by  side,  their  shoulders  very  close  to 
gether  as  though  in  expression  of  a  communion  felt 

157 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

all  the  more  deeply  for  not  having  been  uttered, 
they  returned  to  Mountain  Acre. 

Junior  went  back  to  college  and  finished  his  course 
with  a  fair  rating,  distressingly  low  in  a  few  par 
ticulars  but  carried  high  in  languages  and  to  a 
veritable  peak  in  mechanics  and  allied  subjects.  It 
was  this  specialized  excellence  that  saw  him  through 
but  neither  his  father  nor  he  was  sufficiently  re 
trospective  to  attribute  his  impatient  hunger  for  a 
mastery  of  mathematics  as  a  tool  of  the  mind  to  the 
moment  when  his  boyhood's  imagination  had  been 
first  set  in  motion  to  match  the  leap  of  a  thousand 
years  of  so  apparently  simple  and  dead  a  thing  as 
the  wheel  of  a  barrow. 

He  came  back  after  graduation,  a  handsome  and 
extremely  youthful  Bachelor  of  Science,  for  two 
months  of  heavy  application  of  his  book  knowledge 
in  the  rough  school  of  the  Pico  mine  preparatory  to 
an  effort  to  double  up  on  his  technical  course  and 
take  his  full  engineering  degree  in  two  more  years 
of  study.  His  arrival  coincided  with  that  of  Eller- 
ton,  already  the  proud  father  of  two  babies,  breath- 
takingly  lovely,  even  to  the  eyes  of  others  than  their 
progenitors  and  largely  responsible  for  the  fact  that 

158 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

their  father  had  become  almost  a  stranger  to  Moun 
tain  Acre.  Only  twice  in  three  years  had  he  re 
turned  to  the  spot  he  had  so  haunted  in  his  bachelor 
days  and  on  both  of  these  occasions  his  object  had 
been  to  fetch  Laura  back  a  week  earlier  than  planned 
and  originally  agreed. 

For  this  visit,  however,  he  came  alone  and  with 
out  warning.  From  the  moment  of  his  arrival 
Digby  perceived  that  his  partner  was  worried  but 
that  the  matter  which  troubled  him  was  not  of  a 
personal  character.  In  comparison  with  women 
men  have  few  instinctive  intuitions,  the  surest  of 
which  is  the  power  to  divine  a  desire  unexpressed  in 
words  for  a  stag  talk  on  the  part  of  a  fellow  male. 
As  a  consequence  Digby  made  none  of  his  usual 
frank  frontal  attacks  on  Ellerton's  absorption  and 
waited  patiently  for  Mary  to  sense  the  situation  and 
carry  Madeleine  off  early  to  bed,  remaining  away 
herself  to  attend  to  household  duties.  Ellerton 
glanced  at  Junior,  not  as  a  hint,  but  in  speculation. 
The  boy  read  the  look  and  held  his  ground,  remem 
bering  the  day  now  so  long  ago  when  first  he  had 
been  admitted  to  the  councils  of  men. 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Let  him  stay,  Rox,"  said  Digby  quietly.  "Now, 
fire  away." 

Ellerton  nodded  acquiescence.  "All  right,"  he 
said.  "Has  any  one  telephoned  you  ?" 

"About  what  ?"  asked  Digby. 

"Dick,  the  President  left  for  the  coast  last  night," 
stated  Ellerton  who  had  arisen  and  was  pacing  up 
and  down  the  gallery,  head  dropped  and  holding  a 
forgotten  cigarette  in  one  hand. 

Digby  was  sitting  in  a  characteristic  pose,  one 
elbow  on  the  balustrade,  his  chair  tipped  back  and 
half-turned  so  that  his  eyes  could  easily  seek  the 
valley.  He  now  brought  the  chair  down  to  all- 
fours  swiftly  but  without  noise  and  leaned  forward. 
"What !"  he  cried,  "the  Old  Lion  show  his  back  to 
that  rabble?  I  can't  believe  it." 

"You'll  have  to,"  said  Ellerton. 

The  two  men  were  silent  for  five  minutes  which 
seemed  to  Junior  a  century;  his  quick  eyes  moved 
from  one  to  the  other  of  their  faces  in  puzzled  ques 
tioning  ;  for  once  he  had  heard  a  bare  stated  fact  and 
failed  utterly  to  understand  its  implications.  Not  in 
vain  had  he  been  trained  in  an  atmosphere  aloof 
from  politics  and  allied  to  distant  ideals.  What  did 

160 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

it  matter,  he  wondered,  who  was  president?  Why 
didn't  Rox  and  his  father  tend  to  business  and  talk 
Pico  mine  ?  He  awaited  impatiently  an  explanation 
that  did  not  come.  Ellerton  struck  a  match,  lit  his 
cigarette,  and  said  he  was  going  to  bed  but  walked 
off  into  the  garden;  Digby  took  out  his  pipe  and 
filled  it  slowly,  his  eyes  staring  at  the  tiles  between 
Junior's  feet. 

"What's  the  row,  Dad?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Go  to  bed,"  said  Digby  quietly  and  without 
breaking  his  absorbed  gaze. 

Junior  obeyed;  he  was  not  angry  at  the  unquali 
fied  dismissal  because  long  experience  had  bred  in 
him  a  spontaneous  conviction  of  justice  in  every  one 
of  his  father's  decisions,  but  he  was  intensely 
anxious  as  to  the  grounds  for  this  particular  ver 
dict.  He  had  one  grain  of  satisfaction ;  the  two  men 
did  not  resume  their  talk  after  his  departure.  He 
had  left  his  door  open  and  heard  no  voices  on  the 
terrace;  a  peep  from  his  curtained  window  showed 
him  Rox  still  walking  up  and  down  alone. 

Had  he  been  able  to  keep  awake  long  enough,  he 
might  have  witnessed  or  at  least  surmised  a  mo 
mentary  coming-together  of  Digby  and  Ellerton. 

161 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

'It's  no  use  talking  about  it,  Dick,"  said  the  latter. 
"We've  been  fanned  asleep  by  thirty  years  of  one- 
man  security ;  now  he's  gone  and  we've  got  to  face 
the  music,  whatever  it  happens  to  be.  Probably  the 
old  tune  they  played  for  three  hundred  years." 

Digby  appeared  not  to  have  heard  his  words.  "It 
had  to  come,"  he  said  half  to  himself. 

"Had  to  come?"  repeated  Ellerton.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  this  time  it's  different,"  replied 
Digby.  "Peonage  is  a  factor  sooner  or  later  con 
trollable  by  force,  but  you  can't  smother  the  blaze 
from  industrial  slavery  because  it's  intelligent." 

"What  on  earth  are  you  getting  at?"  demanded 
Ellerton. 

"I'm  trying  to  keep  an  even  mind,"  said  Digby, 
smiling  at  Ellerton's  impetuosity.  "You  and  I,  Rox, 
and  a  lot  more  like  us  have  been  creating  a  class ;  it's 
come  to  life  and  it's  going  to  the  mat  for  a  settle 
ment." 

"You're  right,"  said  Ellerton,  his  jaw  setting, 
"we  have  created  a  class,  fed  mouths  that  had 
starved  for  generations  and  paid  ready  cash  by  the 
day's  work.  Where's  the  call  for  a  settlement?" 

162 


"Through  no  fault  of  our  own,"  answered  Digby, 
"it  hasn't  been  a  just  wage." 

"Not  a  just  wage!"  cried  Ellerton,  opened  his 
mouth  to  say  more  and  stopped.  For  a  moment  the 
two  men  stared  at  each  other  with  a  shade  of  fright 
in  their  eyes  as  though  for  the  first  time  in  the  long 
course  of  their  happy  association  they  stood  at  a 
fork  on  the  road  of  union;  then  by  a  single  impulse 
they  gripped  each  other's  hand  and  parted  for  the 
night.  Neither  slept,  for  both  were  so  entwined 
with  the  conflicting  factors  which  threatened  to 
throw  the  country  of  their  sojourn  into  chaos  that 
they  felt  an  equal  premonition  of  disaster  without 
being  able  to  put  their  fears  in  words  or  even  define 
the  status  of  their  own  position  in  relation  to  im 
pending  cosmic  events* 

They  both  knew  by  the  sixth  sense  which  they 
had  acquired  through  years  of  contact  with  local 
and  innate  conditions  that  a  great  storm  had  broken 
but  even  in  their  anticipation  they  were  too  much 
an  integral  part  of  the  disturbance  to  be  able  either 
at  that  day  or  later  to  measure  or  analyze  it ;  for  no 
man  caught  in  a  holocaust  is  a  fit  witness  to  its 
sources  of  origin,  its  course  or  its  effect.  Only  from 

163 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

a  bridge  of  intervening  years  and  from  a  stand  ele 
vated  by  the  barren  virtue  of  non-participation  is  it 
possible  to  look  back  and  down  and  formulate  a 
three-sided  equation  which  can  account  for  all  the 
ramifications  of  a  national  catastrophe  that  was  to 
bring  in  its  wake  a  decade  of  murder,  rapine  and 
desolation. 

One  point  of  this  triangular  equation  was  symbol 
ized  by  an  eagle  of  a  man  born  to  rule  with  a  hand 
of  iron  and  to  fall  with  that  hand's  weakening; 
another  was  represented  not  by  the  resurrection  but 
by  the  actual,  new  birth  of  a  class  of  conscious 
artisans  superimposed  on  generations  of  peonage 
and  slavery;  at  the  third  point  stood  the  dreamer, 
the  cactus  Messiah,  a  bewildered  weakling  subject 
to  all  the  vacillations  known  to  the  human  mind  but 
from  the  day  of  his  astonishing  elevation  sure,  at 
least,  of  a  crown  of  thorns.  Eagle,  artisans  and 
dreamer  all  raised  their  eyes  on  high,  walked  toward 
one  another  blindly,  collided,  plunged  into  one  and 
the  same  vortex. 

Many  pygmies  live  to  malign  the  dead  eagle  who 
defied  for  thirty  years  the  natural  laws  of  disinte 
gration  and  held  in  his  strong  talons  as  one  grasps 

164 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

a  nettle  a  hundred  warring  tribes  that  in  the  short 
space  of  three  score  years  had  known  the  misrule  of 
fifty  unstable  heads.  This  soldier  who  quelled  in 
ternecine  warfare,  brought  order  out  of  turmoil, 
bestowed  peace  on  his  peoples  by  the  might  of  his 
right  hand,  enforced  social  integrity  and  won  for  the 
nation  of  his  own  welding  the  respect,  faith  and 
friendship  of  an  unbelieving  world;  who  had  but 
four  simple,  every-day  ambitions  quartered  on  the 
shield  of  his  character,  to  drain  the  inundated  val 
ley  in  which  was  cupped  the  sodden  City  of  Palaces, 
to  finish  a  trans-isthmian  railway,  already  forty 
years  in  the  building,  to  swing  the  balance  of  ma 
terial  trade  to  his  country's  favour  and  to  establish 
a  school  in  every  hamlet  of  the  land ;  who  took  boy 
ish  pride  not  in  his  achievements  but  in  a  collection 
of  all  the  arms  known  to  history ;  who  never  looked 
on  the  public  treasury  as  an  annex  to  his  own  pocket- 
book  and  whose  favourite  of  all  the  possessions 
within  his  reach  was  an  old  bear-skin  rug,  developed 
one  fault  execrable  in  the  eyes  of  gods  and  men, — 
he  grew  old. 

Against  that  day  a  condition  had  been  preparing 
from  sources  so  distant,  so  covert,  so  widely  divided 

165 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

from  human  prescience  that  its  silent  flood  fell 
upon  him  without  warning,  swept  him  from  the 
foundations  of  a  lifetime  of  uninterrupted  service, 
whirled  him  out  upon  uncharted  waters  and  cast  him 
up,  a  bit  of  flotsam  on  the  far  shore  of  history,  an 
old  man,  childishly  bewildered,  broken-hearted, 
dead,  refuse. 

And  yet  by  the  laws  of  ethics  and  epochs  he  had 
no  cause  to  complain,  for  unknowingly  he  had  as 
sisted  as  had  Digby,  Ellerton  and  a  thousand  others 
in  more  humble  measure  at  the  birth  of  the  forces 
which  smote  him  from  his  long  seat.  Blind  to  a 
slavery  so  ancient  that  it  was  no  less  natural  to  his 
eyes  than  the  milk  of  his  mother's  breast  to  his  lips 
or  the  high  air  of  his  native  land  to  his  lungs,  he 
broke  its  shackles  even  while  it  seemed  to  be  bowing 
to  his  unconscious  will.  In  twenty-five  years  he  and 
his  helpers  drew  a  billion  dollars  to  their  aid,  never 
dreaming  that  for  every  coin  a  drop  of  new  blood 
coursed  through  the  veins  of  an  entity  bent  toward 
independence  and  a  destructive  freedom. 

The  birth  of  an  industrial  consciousness  through 
the  activities  of  a  thousand  fostered  foreign  enter 
prises  scattered  through  the  length  and  breadth  of 

166 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  land  guided  the  swirl  of  the  maelstrom  but 
tributary  to  this  main  stream  were  the  trickles  of 
poverty-stricken  jealousy  in  the  face  of  rapid 
wealth,  of  race-hatred,  born  of  a  discouraging  and 
ever-increasing  sense  of  dynamic  inferiority,  of  the 
heavy  mass  of  ignorance  too  recently  allied  to  out 
right  savagery  to  yield  to  the  puny  lever  of  village 
schools,  and  finally  of  that  tragic  weakness  in 
human  fate  which  denies  the  power  in  any  mortal 
to  rejuvenate  in  himself  or  will  to  another  the  tri 
umphant  spirit  of  dominance. 

This  last,  the  sapping  of  a  vigour  which  had  up 
held  the  hands  of  honest  coadjutors  while  it  con 
trolled  the  avarice  of  satellites  imbued  temporarily 
with  vicarious  integrity,  was  the  signal  for  an  on 
slaught  on  the  once-guarded  resources  of  the  nation ; 
the  very  class  which  through  historical  habit  the 
eagle  had  made  his  agents  in  reform,  turned  para 
site  and  first  timorously,  then  boldly  as  it  realized 
the  relinquishing  grip  of  the  aging  talons,  resorted 
to  blood-sucking,  rule  by  favour  and  indirect  pecu 
lation. 

The  old  man  knew  that  something  was  wrong 
>vith  the  mechanism  into  which  he  had  built  his 

167 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

life;  he  did  not  realize  that  because  his  times  and  his 
mission  were  material  and  because  he  had  fixed  his 
heart  on  a  material  resurrection  for  the  land  he  loved 
he  must  perforce  fall  by  materialism.  The  clouds 
arisen  on  the  social  horizon  found  him  totally  blind 
to  a  condition  outside  his  scheme  of  ingeniously 
pragmatical  welfare  summed  up  in  three  words,  rail 
roads,  industries,  exports.  Nobody  in  the  world 
denied  that  these  things  were  good  and  the  good  in 
them  so  filled  his  eyes  that  he  could  grasp  no  other. 
He  did  not  understand. 

Deep  beneath  the  surface  of  these  gathering 
waters  moved  one  more  disastrous  cause;  the  flow 
of  fifty  million  dollars  a  year  which  for  a  quarter  of 
a  century  had  fed  the  nation's  sturdy  industrial  babe 
and  kept  it  drowsily  silent  and  content  had  been 
suddenly  snatched  from  sucking  lips  by  the  crisis 
of  1907.  The  consequent  wail  of  social  distress 
was  too  inarticulate  for  immediate  interpretation 
but  not  so  the  blow  to  the  financial  fabric  of  the 
country  which,  pledged  at  the  moment  to  vast  under 
takings,  swayed  and  all  but  fell. 

Such  was  the  flood  prepared  by  destiny  against 
the  old  age  of  a  failing  giant  and  as  is  the  imme- 

168 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

morial  habit  of  like  inundations  it  spewed  up  a 
dreamer  to  ride  its  crest.  Throughout  the  North 
from  whence  had  sprung  a  vast  majority  of  the  suc 
cessful  revolutions  in  a  country  perennially  in  revolt 
was  scattered  a  patriarchal  family  said  to  be  stiff 
ened  by  Anglo-Saxon  and  sharpened  by  Semetic 
strains  of  blood  and  which  in  the  short  space  of  four 
generations  had  grown  to  a  clan  numbered  in  thou 
sands.  The  enmity  of  this  element  to  the  great  ruler 
was  open  and  gradually  became  traditional ;  as  a  con 
sequence  its  members  were  cut  off  from  the  gains 
of  favour  and  office  and  turned  with  a  certain  stal 
wart  dignity  to  agrarian  and  commercial  pursuits. 

As  farmers,  tradesmen,  ranchers,  bankers,  they 
sent  roots  deep  into  the  soil,  twined  their  fibres  with 
the  sinews  of  commercial  life,  mutely  and  steadily 
increased  in  strength  and  prosperity  and  formed  a 
nucleus  of  wealth  honestly  acquired,  of  leisure  un 
tainted  by  remorse.  To  this  peaceful  faction,  men 
tally  hard  by  long  training  in  the  driving  of  a  bar 
gain  but  as  soft  as  an  unformed  babe  in  physical 
execution,  was  born  the  dreamer. 

Puny  in  figure,  with  tiny  feet,  thin  wrists,  effemi 
nate  hands,  large  head,  bulging  brow  and  slum- 

169 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

berous,  lucent  eyes,  he  was  fashioned  by  nature  and 
endowed  by  pecuniary  independence  for  the  life  of 
a  recluse  and  such  was  his  tendency.  He  became  a 
reader  greedy  only  for  that  new  literature  which 
marked  the  birth  of  humanism  and  strove  to  blaze 
the  path  to  a  leveling  of  social  welfare.  In  any 
other  place  and  time  he  might  have  lived  and  died 
unnoticed  behind  a  printed  page  but  driven  perhaps 
by  that  impulse  toward  human  regeneration  so  trag 
ically  allied  to  Semetic  tradition  and  lifted  from  nat 
ural  inertia  by  the  forces  of  unrest  about  him 
arrived  psychologically  at  the  point  of  fermentation 
he  emerged  as  a  pamphleteer,  caught  the  imagination 
of  a  seething  populace  awaiting  any  plume  of  leader 
ship  upon  which  to  fix  its  myriad  eyes  and  found 
himself  flung  to  the  crest  of  a  monster  inundation 
not  of  his  making. 

Exhilarated,  bemused  and  finally  stunned  by  the 
phantom  blow  of  a  dream  come  true,  he  was  swept 
by  the  flood  into  the  presidential  chair  and  there 
awoke  to  a  numb  terror  of  the  overwhelming,  be 
wildering,  totally  uncomprehended  necessity  for 
action.  He  had  no  strength  beyond  the  residue  of 
an  impetus  of  consistency  which  led  him  to  turn  his 

170 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

back  on  the  ancient  formula  of  compromise  with  the 
mighty,  death  to  the  strong,  amnesty  only  to  the 
weak  and  harmless,  and  which,  in  the  face  of  a  gath 
ering  host  of  harpies,  left  him  murmuring,  reiterat 
ing,  whispering  at  last  only  to  himself  his  message 
of  peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  men. 

His  image  lingers  in  the  memory  of  the  pitying 
public  as  that  of  a  dreamer  cringing  from  the  night 
mare  of  reality.  So  do  we  see  him  last,  sitting 
crouched  with  his  heels  caught  childishly  on  the  rung 
of  the  seat  of  government  against  a  great  desk,  his 
elbows  on  its  edge,  his  pitifully  thin  wrists  rising 
like  two  shafts  of  fragile  light  from  cuffless  sleeves, 
his  chin  cupped  in  slender  inefficient  hands,  a  fatuous 
smile  upon  his  face  and  the  look  of  the  hunted  in 
his  tender  bewildered  eyes;  a  dove  set  to  hatch  the 
eggs  of  an  eagle's  laying. 

Because  his  love  was  for  the  weary  and  heavy- 
laden,  because  he  was  good,  because  he  was  merciful, 
because  he  was  meek,  because  he  was  long-suffering, 
because  he  was  pure  of  heart,  because  he  lifted  un 
resisting  the  other  cheek  and  most  of  all  because  his 
hand  was  too  weak  to  seize  the  scourge  and  clear  his 
temple  of  unworldly  righteousness  of  those  who 

171 


would  defile  it,  they  took  him  out  and  crucified  him 
against  the  back  seat  of  a  motor-car. 

These  events,  of  necessity  so  compactly  depicted, 
erupting  in  November  of  1910  and  coming  to  an 
anticlimax  of  terror  in  February  of  1913,  rushed 
with  such  precipitancy  to  catch  up  with  the  premoni 
tion  which  Digby  and  Ellerton  had  shared  that  they 
left  the  two  men  stunned,  incapable  of  a  realization 
of  the  catastrophe  which  they  themselves  had  known 
to  be  impending.  Far  and  wide  the  army  of  newly- 
trained  had  thrown  down  its  tools  to  join  the  de 
luded  rabble  which  believed  itself  to  have  stumbled 
on  a  millennium ;  all  work  was  at  a  standstill,  the  de 
pressing  silence  of  untold  paralyzed  mechanisms 
hung  like  a  pall  above  men  of  action  concentrated 
against  their  wills  in  camps  of  idleness.  When  he 
could  safely  do  so  Ellerton  moved  his  family  south 
to  Mountain  Acre  as  being  withdrawn  from  the 
traveled  highways  of  insurrection;  for  himself  he 
sought  not  security,  but  companionship  in  the  misery 
of  waiting  for  the  unknown. 


"Father,  hath  man  then  no  greatness?" 

"The  space  of  a  man's  years  are  three-score  and  ten 
and  if  by  reason  of  his  strength  they  be  four  score  ye* 
is  their  strength  labour  and  sorrow" 

"Thou  mockest  me." 

"Nay;  for  in  that  little  space  of  years  man  weldeth 
his  single  lasting  link  of  suffering  to  an  eternal  chain." 


CHAPTER  VII 

SHORTLY  before  the  coming  of  Ellerton  and 
his  family,  Digby  had  gone  through  a  terrible 
experience  of  mental  strain.  Feeling  that  great 
events  were  impending,  he  had  left  Mary  with 
Junior  and  Madeleine  at  Mountain  Acre  and  run  up 
to  the  City  to  order  a  carload  of  supplies.  Scarcely 
had  he  reached  the  club  where  he  was  to  put  up 
when  the  coup  d'etat,  since  known  as  the  Ten  Days 
of  Terror,  broke  over  the  Capital  with  a  fury  which 
left  him  gasping  at  the  puerility  of  his  anticipation 
of  trouble  in  the  face  of  its  realization.  Every  high 
way  leading  from  the  town,  almost  from  the  mo 
ment  of  his  entering  it,  became  a  death-trap. 

In  the  club  with  Digby  were  several  men  who 
either  lived  there  or  had  been  cut  off  from  their 
homes;  they  stared  out  of  the  windows,  for  some 
time,  grew  bored,  discovered  that  they  were  that 
perfect  number  seven  and  sat  down  to  a  game  of 
poker.  Within  an  hour  it  developed  that  the  stock 
of  beer  was  practically  exhausted  and  they  played  a 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

freeze-out  to  decide  which  of  them  should  go  out 
to  replenish  the  void. 

The  lot  fell  to  the  smallest  and  weakest  man  pres 
ent;  he  arose  unsteadily  with  pale  cheeks  and  drawn 
lips  but  did  not  hesitate.  On  a  common  impulse, 
the  other  six  left  the  table,  picked  up  their  hats  and 
followed  him.  He  looked  back  with  a  sudden  light 
ening1  of  his  face  and  asked,  "You  fellows  aren't 
coming,  too,  are  you  ?" 

"Sure,"  said  one  with  a  laugh.  "Why,  you 
couldn't  carry  enough  to  water  a  geranium." 

"That's  so,"  said  the  small  man.  Up  to  that  mo 
ment  he  had  given  no  thought  to  ways  and  means. 

The  street  they  first  crossed  was  in  the  main  line 
of  fire;  Digby  glanced  up  it  and  saw  a  dozen  black 
blotches  scattered  along  its  length  looking  incon 
gruous  and  abnormally  still  like  shadows  which  had 
forgotten  to  follow  their  masters.  Arrived  at  the 
door  of  the  nearest  purveyor  of  liquors,  they  had  to 
use  every  stratagem  to  accomplish  its  opening.  They 
knocked  very  gently,  called  in  quiet  unexcited  tones, 
whistled  gay  airs  and  finally  secured  an  interview 
with  an  unseen  within  an  upper  window.  After 
much  patient  persuasion  the  merchant  came  down, 

175 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

opened  the  door,  slid  three  cases  into  the  street  and 
scarcely  waited  to  take  the  proffered  gold. 

As  the  men  started  back,  Trawley  leading  the  way 
and  the  other  six  following  in  single  file,  two  to  each 
case  of  beer,  they  came  upon  a  barrel  organ  propped 
against  the  wall ;  in  the  deep  recess  of  a  door  near  by 
huddled  its  owner  holding  in  his  lap  a  dead  mon 
key.  The  organ-grinder's  eyes  stared  up  at  them 
from  a  daze  which  was  too  deep  for  wonder;  they 
might  have  gone  on  and  left  no  recollection  of  their 
passing  but  such  was  not  Trawley's  humour.  He 
stopped,  poked  the  man  with  his  foot  and  asked 
what  was  his  price  by  the  hour. 

The  man  only  shook  his  head  and  glanced  down 
at  the  dead  monkey  in  his  arms.  There  was  no  af 
fection  in  the  look,  rather  a  dull  sequence  of  logical 
deduction  to  the  effect  that  what  had  happened  to 
the  stiffening  beast  might  have  come  to  its  owner 
by  an  original  deviation  of  a  thousandth  of  an  inch. 
He  refused  employment  but  was  finally  persuaded 
to  name  a  price  for  his  organ.  Trawley  paid  it  and 
with  the  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes  dancing  like  the 
facets  of  a  diamond  in  the  sun,  slipped  his  gray 
head  through  the  greasy  shoulder  strap,  resumed  his 

176 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

position  in  the  van  of  the  line,  turned  the  crank  and 
produced  with  many  jerks  in  its  tempo  an  air  so 
old,  so  martial  and  so  familiar  that  his  followers, 
including  a  southerner,  burst  simultaneously  into 
the  cry  of  Marching  Through  Georgia. 

More  dum founded  by  that  chorus  than  by  the 
rumble  of  field-guns,  the  bursting  of  shells  and  the 
crackle  of  Maxims,  the  organ-grinder  got  up  and 
staggered  after  the  cortege  as  though  the  mind 
which  had  been  able  to  grasp  the  significance  of  a 
monkey  falling  dead  from  a  swaying  clutch  on  his 
shoulder  could  deduce  nothing  but  safety  in  the 
wake  of  so  heart-free  a  procession.  He  followed  it 
almost  to  the  doors  of  the  club,  stumbled  on  some 
thing  in  mid-air  and  fell. 

Throughout  their  excursion  Digby  had  watched 
the  action  of  such  natives  of  the  city  as  were  still  in 
the  streets.  Their  faces  were  panic-stricken  with 
unreasoning  fear  yet  set  to  a  single  determination; 
they  were  like  animals  stricken  by  the  foreknowledge 
of  an  unescapable  doom  scurrying  to  their  holes  to 
die;  they  seemed  totally  incapable  of  regarding  as 
shelter  any  refuge  but  the  squalid  cellar  or  the  palace 
they  knew  as  home. 

177 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

One  woman  passed  swiftly  holding  her  rebozo 
tight  beneath  her  chin  as  though  it  could  hide 
her  from  peril.  From  within  its  narrowed  aper 
ture  her  face  gleamed  white  as  milk;  her  eyes 
stared  fixedly  down  the  straight  street  as  if  they  at 
least  might  reach  the  haven  of  her  desperate  desire. 
A  bullet  struck  her,  sending  out  from  her  flowing 
black  cape  a  faint  puff  of  dust  undiscovered  by  many 
brushings.  She  sank  to  earth  and  the  strangest 
thing  about  her  was  the  sudden  insignificance  of  the 
unbelievably  small  heap  she  became  in  the  great 
emptiness  of  the  thoroughfare. 

It  was  half  an  hour  after  the  successful  return 
to  the  club  that  Trawley,  looking  from  a  window, 
discovered  the  fallen  organ-grinder  still  clutching 
his  monkey.  "Dick,"  he  said,  "come  here."  Digby 
joined  him;  they  stared  at  the  dead  man. 

"It's  a  queer  feeling,"  said  Trawley,  breaking 
their  long  silence.  "I  paid  twenty  dollars  to  noth 
ing;  threw  it  into  the  air.  It  makes  you  feel  queer." 

Digby  did  not  answer,  he  was  staring  horrified  at 
a  coche  which  was  making  its  leisurely  way  up  the 
street  Its  driver  sat  hunched  on  the  box  in  a  posi 
tion  natural  to  rainy  weather  but  to-day  there  was 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky ;  in  the  open  carriage,  regard- 

178 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

less  of  the  sun  and  other  things,  was  a  lady  sitting 
very  erect,  her  hands  folded  over  the  head  of  a 
furled  parasol.  Digby  recognized  a  fellow-country 
woman  ;  she  was  from  an  outlying  mining-camp  and 
had  probably  come  into  town  for  a  day's  shopping. 
He  rushed  hatless  out  of  the  club,  into  the  street  and 
stopped  the  coach.  The  lady  smiled  and  held  out 
her  hand ;  she  was  one  who  took  pride  in  the  white 
ness  and  fit  of  her  gloves. 

"Are  you  mad?"  gasped  Digby.  "Get  out  and 
come  into  the  club." 

She  glanced  at  the  building,  waved  at  Trawley, 
and  then  looked  back  at  Digby.  "I  can't  do  that," 
she  exclaimed  with  a  laugh.  "Think  what  people 
would  say !  I  haven't  a  stitch  with  me  but  what  I've 
got  on.  I  know  perfectly  well  where  I'm  going, 
Dick;  get  back  into  the  house;  the  sun  isn't  good 
for  you." 

She  spoke  to  the  driver  and  then  prodded  him 
with  her  parasol;  he  was  an  old  man,  he  had  seen 
many  things.  He  grunted  and  whipped  up  his 
horses  so  effectively  that  they  seemed  to  snatch  the 
carriage  from  Digby's  grasp.  He  stood  staring 
after  it,  a  half-smile  on  his  lips,  anxiety  in  his  eyes. 
Presently  the  parasol  bloomed  above  the  lowered  top 

179 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

of  the  carriage;  it  made  a  spot  of  swaying  green,  an 
impudent  plume  of  disregard  for  the  badly-ordered 
affairs  of  a  world  ignored. 

He  went  back  into  the  club  and  resumed  his  place 
at  the  card-table  but  while  he  met  automatically  the 
requirements  of  the  game  saying  in  his  habitually 
controlled  playing  voice,  "I  raise  you  five,"  "I  see 
you,"  "I'm  away,"  "Three,  please,"  the  green  para 
sol  was  bobbing  before  his  eyes,  giving  them  a  rest 
by  diversion  from  their  long  mental  staring  at  what 
might  be  going  on  at  Mountain  Acre.  Over  and 
over  again  he  had  passed  in  review  every  element, 
every  individual  worker,  at  the  Pico  mine,  return 
ing  invariably  for  comfort  to  thoughts  of  Pat 
Hogan  and  of  Richard,  Jr. ;  once  in  a  while  he  tried 
the  telephone  to  ascertain  if  central  had  resumed. 
Yet  those  who  watched  him  never  guessed  that  he 
was  nervous. 

Days  and  nights  passed  with  only  one  noticeable 
break  in  the  monotony  of  tumult  and  an  almost 
simultaneous  interruption  of  the  poker  game  caused 
by  the  advent  of  the  Embassy  messenger.  With 
almost  insolent  faith  in  the  power  of  the  flag  and 
the  white  napkin  flying  side  by  side  at  the  head  of 

180 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

his  motor,  he  had  run  down  the  opposing  lines  of 
fire  to  their  sources  and  by  the  sheer  weight  of  his 
smiling  effrontery  persuaded  the  commanding  offi 
cers  to  suspend  action  for  two  hours  to  enable  him 
to  clear  certain  members  of  the  colony  from  the  dis 
trict  which  was  being  shelled.  He  burst  into  the 
club  with  a  list  of  addresses  in  his  hand,  reserved 
half  to  himself  and  allotted  the  rest  to  eager  vol 
unteers. 

At  the  exact  end  of  the  two  hours  of  the  silence 
which  had  seemed  abnormal  when  it  fell  on  the  torn 
city,  firing  recommenced  but  in  the  meantime  fifty 
families  had  been  hustled  out  and  guided  to  wel 
coming  homes  whose  location  made  them  compara 
tively  safe,  some  of  them  already  choked  with  gay 
though  uninvited  guests.  On  Digby's  last  trip  he 
came  across  the  lady  of  the  green  parasol;  he  was 
immensely  relieved  and  then  petulantly  aggrieved 
that  he  had  discovered  her  safety  so  soon;  it  left 
him  no  anxiety  but  Mountain  Acre. 

As  he  hurried  down  the  Paseo  he  saw  two 
Britishers,  deceived  by  the  long  quiet,  on  their  placid 
way  to  office.  There  was  a  complacent  look  on  their 
faces  as  though  they  were  bathed  in  content  at  the 

181 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

mere  liberty  to  resume  familiar  ways.  Their  brows 
darkened  in  wrath  as  the  rattle  of  far-away  firing 
suddenly  shook  the  air;  unwilling  to  believe  their 
ears,  they  kept  on  doggedly  for  a  few  steps,  then  one 
of  them  hearing  a  droning  as  of  a  lazy  bee  looked 
up  to  meet  the  spent  bullet  that  crashed  into  his 
brain.  Digby  stopped  to  help  his  companion  carry 
the  body  to  a  friend's  house;  then  resumed  his  way 
to  the  club. 

He  was  amazed  at  his  own  calm ;  he  felt  sorry  for 
the  dead  man  whom  he  had  known  slightly  but  he 
was  unconscious  of  any  shock,  nor  was  he  stunned. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  witnessed  something  regrettable 
but  quite  expected.  What  seemed  most  remarkable 
to  him  was  that  the  man  had  fallen  away  from  the 
bullet  which  was  against  the  known  rules  of  recoil. 
Digby  felt  a  certain  pride  in  his  reasoning  powers 
when  he  decided  that  it  must  have  been  because  the 
bullet  was  spent. 

When  he  arrived  before  the  club,  he  found  Tem 
ple,  the  banker,  his  huge  frame  and  bulging  eyes 
expressing  disgust  and  disdain,  out  in  the  street 
with  a  watering-pot  pouring  petroleum  over  three 
miserable  bodies  which  had  begun  to  pollute  the  air. 

182 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

He  helped  him  set  fire  to  the  filthy  rags  in  which 
they  had  been  clothed  and  somehow  this  sensible  act 
seemed  to  him  infinitely  more  shocking  than  the 
swift  death  of  the  clean  Britisher.  He  plunged  into 
the  poker  game  which  was  still  going  on  with  an 
intensity  of  purpose  which  blinded  him  to  all  but  the 
varying  value  of  his  cards. 

And  so  through  the  Ten  Days  of  Horror.  When 
stillness  once  more  fell  on  the  City  it  was  the  heavy, 
permeating  silence  of  grim  accomplishment.  Digby 
secured  a  friend's  motor-car  and  was  of  the  first  to 
dare  the  open  highways.  More  than  once  he  saw 
bodies  heaped  at  street  corners  preparatory  to  be 
ing  carted  away  or  in  some  cases  undergoing  im 
promptu  cremation;  twice  he  caught  a  rushing 
glimpse  of  outposts  with  rifles,  staring  at  him  and 
then  at  their  guns  in  dazed  indecision  as  to  whether 
he  should  be  shot  or  not.  At  Mountain  Acre  he 
found  the  family  quite  safe  and  going  about  its  usual 
affairs.  The  presence  of  Pat  loafing  with  his  pipe 
on  the  gallery  and  the  dumb  void  created  by  the 
cessation  of  the  accustomed  faint  undertone  of 
rumbling  stamps  at  the  far-away  mill  were  the  only; 
indications  that  all  was  not  well  with  their  world. 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

It  was  a  week  later  that  Ellerton  appeared  bring 
ing  with  him  Laura  and  her  babies.  He  was  not 
deceived  at  the  peace  he  found  at  Mountain  Acre, 
neither  was  Digby;  they  remembered  their  conver 
sation  of  two  years  before  and  its  unspoken  predic 
tions  and  stared  at  each  other  with  grave  faces. 
They  had  little  to  say,  because  men  face  to  face  with 
catastrophe  are  not  talkative,  especially  such  as 
know  each  other  as  well  as  did  these  two. 

To  the  women  of  the  household  every  aspect  was 
pleasing  if  not  rose-coloured;  they  knew  that  the 
men  were  nervous,  but  even  Mary  attributed  their 
uneasiness  to  enforced  idleness.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  the  entire  family  had  much  to  be  thankful  for ; 
they  had  escaped  unscathed,  they  were  safe,  with  the 
sole  exception  of  Digby  they  had  been  spared  even 
gruesome  sights.  Never  before  had  the  house  been 
so  peaceful.  She  wondered  why,  puzzled  over  the 
explanation  until  she  found  it;  there  was  no  after 
noon  chatter  from  the  servants'  quarters,  the  men 
among  their  visitors  were  gone,  the  women  no 
longer  came.  For  some  reason  which  she  could  not 
quite  fathom  the  discovery  turned  the  peace  fulness 
a  little  acrid.  .When  next  she  noticed  Ellerton  and 

184 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

her  husband  sitting  in  moody  silence  a  tiny  frown 
puckered  her  brow. 

Of  all  the  inmates  of  the  house  none  was  more 
blissfully  ignorant  and  content  than  Madeleine.  She 
had  seen  the  first  of  Laura's  babies  soon  after  its 
arrival  and  without  betraying  her  opinion  had  found 
it  disappointingly  ordinary;  now  it  was  two  years 
old  and  quite  charming,  but  not  nearly  so  wonderful 
as  its  younger  sister.  This  second  child  was  an 
anomaly,  a  lovely  sport  of  nature,  for  it  had  been 
born  entrancingly  beautiful,  free  of  that  look  of 
wrinkled  age  which  almost  universally  stamps  upon 
the  first  days  of  a  babe  the  mark  of  human  limitation. 

No  group  could  exceed  in  delicate  charm  that 
which  was  wont  to  gather  immediately  after  the 
baby's  bath:  Madeleine,  round-eyed,  flushed  of 
cheek,  catching  her  breath  in  little  puffing  gasps, 
holding  the  tiny  perfumed  child  on  her  outstretched 
arms  which  trembled  with  a  poignant,  bewildering 
desire  to  hug  and  crush  the  atom  of  rosy  joy  lying1 
upon  the  soft  towel  like  a  flushed  pearl  upon  a  field 
of  snow;  Mary,  leaning  over,  her  eyes  filled  with 
dimming  tears,  her  lips  curved  to  a  smile  of  inde 
scribable  tenderness ;  Laura  standing  by  with  a  look 

185 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

of  questioning  wonder  forever  unanswerable,  her 
hand  on  the  curly  head  of  the  two-year-old,  who 
clung  to  Madeleine's  skirts,  begging  for  a  peep. 

As  Mary  looked  down  upon  the  pink  perfection  of 
those  tiny  naked  limbs,  at  the  bud  of  a  mouth  which 
smiled  but  never  gurgled,  at  the  eyes,  so  big,  so 
blue,  so  content,  so  unfrightened,  so  infinitely  at 
peace  with  every  disposition  ordained  or  to  be  or 
dained  by  a  fate  accepted  without  question  from  the 
moment  of  life's  inception,  she  murmured,  "I  can't 
understand  it,  Laura.  Baby  is  too  perfect,  she 
never  cries,  never  dribbles ;  she  isn't  like  a  baby  but 
like  a  dream  come  true.  She  fills  the  heart  too  full 
for  belief  as  though  she  had  bloomed  overnight 
beyond  the  realm  of  pain." 

And  Laura  breathed  with  dilated  eyes,  "It  was 
like  that ;  she  was  born  like  a  happy  sigh  that  hurts 
with  pleasure." 

Digby,  coming  upon  this  scene,  felt  a  strange  con 
traction  of  the  heart,  a  sense  of  impotence  before  the 
sisyphistic  burden  of  man,  doomed  to  roll  with  puny 
arms  the  stone  of  human  happiness  for  himself  and 
for  others  against  the  steep  ascent  of  an  immutable 
fate.  He  turned  with  an  unaccustomed  stoop  to  his 

186 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

shoulders  to  continue  his  search  for  Ellerton,  as  he 
had  news  for  him  of  grave  importance. 

Six  months  of  shattering  unrest  had  continued  to 
shake  the  country  since  it  had  been  rocked  from  its 
foundations  by  the  cataclysm  of  the  tragic  Ten 
Days;  without  exception  industry  had  been  at  a 
standstill  throughout  the  land  and  hearts  had  grown 
sore  under  the  racking  of  idle  anxiety  and  hope  de 
ferred.  To  put  an  illusive  period  to  this  condition 
of  affairs  came  the  first  of  the  announcements  of  a 
broadening  of  the  advice  now  a  year  old  of  the  home 
government  that  all  its  nationals  should  concentrate 
in  the  large  cities  to  a  policy  charged  with  peril  to 
the  intimate  sinews  of  ten  thousand  lives,  the  fun 
damental  and  simple  things  of  existence,  such  as 
shelter,  daily  bread  and  the  elementary  garments  of 
decency. 

It  was  this  pronouncement  published  in  the  daily 
press  of  the  Capital  and  sent  to  Digby  by  courier 
that  he  wished  to  show  to  Ellerton  whom  he  finally 
found  under  an  arbor  in  the  garden  desperately  un 
occupied  and  disconsolately  smoking  a  pipe  in  spite 
of  a  tongue  gone  raw  from  too  frequent  indulgence 
in  the  solace  of  tobacco.  He  raised  a  listless  hand 

187 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

to  take  the  paper,  read  the  announcement  through 
twice  and  sat  thereafter  with  brows  gathered  in 
concentration. 

"What  do  you  think,  Rox?"  asked  Digby  quietly 
and  continued  himself  with  an  impromptu  resume 
of  the  message.  "You  see,  Washington  says  that 
while  it  waits,  the  contest  of  the  rival  forces  will 
doubtless  be  a  bit  sharper  because  it's  self-evident 
that  a  prompt  end  must  come  to  such  a  situation  and 
as  a  consequence  increased  danger  to  non-combatants 
is  to  be  feared.  That  sounds  reasonable,  doesn't  it?" 

Ellerton  made  no  reply  and  Digby  continued.  "It 
urges  all  of  us  to  leave  the  country  but  says  that 
doesn't  mean  in  the  least  a  slackening  of  the  efforts  to 
safeguard  our  lives  and  interests  and  that  it  should 
be  published  broadcast  to  every  one  assuming  author 
ity  here  in  the  most  unequivocal  way  that  the  for 
tunes  of  those  of  us  who  can't  possibly  get  away  will 
be  vigilantly  watched  over  and  that  those  responsi 
ble  for  our  sufferings  and  losses  will  be  held  to  a 
definite  reckoning.  It  says  that  should  be  made 
plain  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  misunderstanding. 
What  more  can  we  ask,  Rox?" 

188 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Ellerton  waved  his  hand  in  a  gesture  of  dis 
missal.  "I've  finished  thinking  about  what  it  says, 
Dick,"  he  answered.  "I'm  trying  to  get  down  to  im 
mediate  facts,  such  as  where  I'll  put  my  foot  the  very 
next  step  I  take.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  I'm  hard 
up  and  as  for  you,  if  you're  not,  you  soon  will  be.  I 
know  all  the  platitudes  about  not  thinking  of  money 
when  life  is  at  stake,  but  as  a  matter  of  cold  fact, 
money  is  more  important  than  life, — it  always  has 
been.  If  it  weren't,  why  should  a  circus  acrobat  dive 
a  hundred  feet  into  a  shallow  tank  of  water  for  five 
dollars  a  time  ?  How  many  of  us  do  you  think  there 
are  in  the  country  to-day,  Dick?" 

"All  told?"  asked  Digby. 

Ellerton  nodded. 

"I've  heard  as  low  as  twenty  thousand  and  as 
high  as  fifty,"  replied  Digby. 

"Let's  call  it  twenty,"  said  Ellerton.  "Think  of 
moving  day  for  twenty  thousand  men,  women  and 
children,  not  to  the  next-door  flat  but  away  from 
bread  and  butter,  lots  of  them  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
governmental  charity  just  to  get  put  .Well,  I've 
made  up  my  mind." 

189 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"To  what?"  asked  Digby  eagerly.  He  had  little 
faith  in  Ellerton's  ethical  capacity,  but  looked  upon 
his  practical  acumen  as  virtually  infallible. 

"The  women  and  children  may  go,"  replied  Eller- 
ton,  "but  we  men  must  stay ;  we've  got  to  stay  and 
I'll  tell  you  why,  Dick.  You  can't  leave  bread  and 
butter  and  a  billion  dollars  of  investment,  equip 
ment  and  running  gear  even  in  a  desert  without  a 
human  dam;  it  will  seep  away  like  water  into  dry 
sand.  There's  a  consideration  of  honour  on  me  and 
on  a  thousand  more  like  me,  the  same  consideration 
that  binds  a  millionaire  guardian  or  a  common 
night-watchman.  We  owe  it, — do  you  get  that? — 
we  owe  it  to  half  a  million  folks  at  home  that  had 
faith  in  us  and  I  for  one  won't  quit.  I  won't.  I 
was  born  to  a  certain  brand  of  honour  just  as  surely 
as  I  was  to  an  inalienable  right  to  protection  wher 
ever  I  may  choose  to  wander  on  God's  green  earth." 

"Hold  on,  Rox,"  said  Digby,  smiling,  "keep  an 
even  mind.  You're  right  but  you're  violent.  I've 
got  to  stay  here;  every  cent  of  income  for  me 
stopped  when  the  Pico  mine  closed  down.  But  you 
talked  as  if  it  was  for  months,  as  if  you  hadn't  even 
read  what  the  paper  says  about  unslackening  vigi 
lance." 

190 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"I  know  I  did,"  said  Rox,  running  his  hand 
through  his  crisp  hair.  "I  can't  tell  you  why  I  did, 
but  I  guess  it's  because  I  always  talk  by  feel  and  not 
by  reason." 

Digby  stared  at  him,  surprised  that  he  should 
have  put  so  neatly  into  words  what  he  himself  had 
often  sensed  in  regard  to  the  intimate  make-up  of 
his  partner  but  never  been  able  to  define.  To 
gether  the  two  left  the  arbor  to  go  and  break  to  the 
women  of  the  family  the  necessity  for  immediate 
departure  from  the  country.  Their  unbelieving 
faces,  the  excitement  of  packing  for  what  they  con 
sidered  a  flying  visit,  the  disorder  consequent  upon 
hasty  choice  and  ruthless  discarding,  made  on  the 
watching  men  an  impression  which  in  the  course  of 
the  next  few  years  was  to  become  a  mental  picture 
not  of  an  event  but  of  a  condition. 

The  peculiar  movement  which  now  began  of  a 
vast  body,  an  entire  class  of  intelligent,  highly- 
trained  factors  in  the  life  .of  a  hundred  communi 
ties,  was  one  of  the  strangest  series  of  exoduses 
known  to  history;  it  was  not  a  hegira  carrying  the 
implication  of  roots  uptorn  and  bridges  burned  but 
rather  the  ebb  and  flow  of  a  tide  anchored  by  the 
laws  as  old  as  man  and  as  immutable  as  nature  her- 

191 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

self  on  which  Ellerton  had  laid  an  unerring1  finger. 
In  a  period  of  four  years  thousands  of  women  and 
children  and  many  men  abandoned  their  homes 
thrice  in  distracted  obedience  to  their  country's  thrice 
repeated  command ;  great  was  the  outward  flood  on 
these  occasions  but  great  also  was  the  return  flow, 
in  some  cases  after  months,  in  many  after  mere 
weeks. 

Why  ?  Why  did  these  individuals  go  back  ?  Was 
it  to  embarrass  their  own  country  by  drawing  petu 
lant  attention  to  the  misdemeanors  of  another  ?  No ; 
it  was  because  nothing  short  of  a  thunderbolt  of 
God  which  should  destroy  them,  life,  lock,  stock 
and  barrel,  could  have  made  good  the  order  to 
evacuate.  They  came  back,  to  give  no  nobler  rea 
son,  because  San  Francisco  was  rebuilt,  because  the 
slopes  of  Etna,  to  our  knowledge  continually  swept 
by  fire  and  brimstone  since  eight  centuries  before 
Christ,  have  to-day  a  thousand  inhabitants  to  the 
square  mile,  because  their  friends  looked  askance  at 
further  loans,  because  the  edifice  of  an  individual 
life  can  not  always  be  built  twice,  because  they  were 
desperate,  threadbare,  hungry  and  cold. 

There  were  many  who  had  not  the  resources  for 
even  a  first:  return ;  citrus  fruit  farmers  by  the  hun- 

192 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

dred,  some  of  them  old  men,  who  had  seen  their 
groves  wantonly  razed ;  ranchers,  whose  wealth,  bred 
through  patient  years,  had  been  shot  down  for  the 
hides  or  driven  off  on  the  hoof ;  small  miners ;  pros 
pectors;  employees  of  big  concerns  whose  worth 
hung  to  a  narrow  margin  of  language  or  location,  all 
of  them  producers  who  had  given  but  never  sucked 
blood.  There  were  those  also  whose  funds  were  suf 
ficient  for  but  a  single  return;  of  these  were  the 
Digbys. 

Almost  every  family  has  its  ups  and  downs,  its 
day  of  ease,  its  hour  of  reverse,  but  it  will  be  found 
that  the  quality  of  fortitude  with  which  these  tran 
sitions  are  met  is  invariably  in  ratio  to  the  measure 
of  justice;  the  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune  sting 
deeply  only  those  who  know  themselves  wronged. 
Mary  had  gone  to  the  States  with  a  slim  purse  but 
a  heart  full  of  courage ;  she  came  back  an  old  woman, 
aged  not  by  years  but  by  seeing  herself  and  her 
children  burdens  on  those  who  were  already  over 
laden  and  by  the  knowledge  that  it  was  through  no 
fault  of  her  own  that  she  had  come  through  years 
of  wise  management  and  modest  opulence  to  penury. 

Unconscious  of  the  change  in  herself,  she  was 
shocked  to  find  Digby's  hair  turned  quite  gray,  a 

193 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

stoop  fixed  in  his  once  erect  shoulders  and  a  mild 
look  of  shame  in  his  steel-blue  eyes  as  though  they 
could  never  escape  from  the  sight  of  himself  as  a 
failure  in  protection,  the  first  duty  of  love.  He 
stammered,  almost  choked,  when  he  explained  to  her 
that  he  could  not  go  to  the  port  to  meet  her  because 
of  lack  of  the  few  dollars  necessary.  He  looked 
with  faint  wonder  at  Laura  and  her  children. 

"Why  did  you  come  ?"  he  asked. 

Laura  smiled,  put  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
kissed  him,  held  up  her  two  lovely  children  to  be 
kissed  and  then  said  quietly,  "To  give  music  lessons." 

She  would  not  go  to  Mountain  Acre;  she  took  a 
tiny  apartment  in  the  City,  sought  patiently  for  the 
few  pupils  that  would  give  her  the  pittance  she  re 
quired  and  telegraphed  for  Rox  to  come  to  her.  The 
message  missed  him,  for  a  rumour  had  reached  him 
and  he  was  already  on  the  way.  When  after  many 
inquiries  he  found  her,  he  gave  her  the  first  and  last 
angry  glance  of  all  their  years  together,  but  before 
he  could  speak  she  had  laid  her  pale  cool  fingers  on 
his  hot  lips. 

"Rox,"  she  said,  "my  dear  big  boy,  we  can't  live 
any  more  so  far  away  from  you." 

194 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Looking  into  her  calm  eyes  he  felt  himself  de 
meaned,  sank  to  the  floor,  wrapped  his  arms  around 
her  and  buried  his  face  against  her  knees ;  his  hands 
stole  up  along  her  body  to  her  waist  and  clung  there, 
trembling.  Her  fingers  moved  caressingly  through 
his  hair. 

"When  you  can  come,"  she  continued,  "we  are 
here;  when  you're  away,  you'll  know  where  we  are." 

"But,  darling,"  said  Ellerton,  "the  music  lessons ; 
they're  not  true,  are  they  ?" 

"Rox,  stand  up,"  said  Laura  in  a  strangely  potent 
tone  that  brought  him  to  his  feet  in  wonder.  "Look 
at  me,"  she  continued.  "I'm  going  to  support  my 
self  and  the  babies  if  I  can  do  it;  if  I  can't  I'll  let 
you  know.  In  the  meantime  you're  going  to  give 
every  cent  you  can  make  or  borrow  to  Father.  Do 
you  know  what  it  meant  to  Madeleine,  or  to  Mother 
for  that  matter,  to  come  back  with  just  the  clothes 
they  went  away  with  a  year  ago?  No,  you  don't 
dear ;  you  couldn't,  but  I  do  and  if  you  refuse  what 
I  ask,  you'll  kill  something  in  me  that  can't  die 
alone." 

Then  he  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed,  seized 
her,  kissed  her,  picked  her  up  and  bearing  her  in  the 

195 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

strong  arms  of  love  carried  her  protesting  on  a  tour 
of  inspection  through  every  room  of  the  little  flat, 
the  two  children  following,  screaming  with  mixed 
fear  and  delight  at  his  heels.  He  ended  up  by  de 
positing  her  on  the  bed,  piling  the  babies  on  top  of 
her  and  then  plunging  to  embrace  in  one  monster 
hug  all  the  rosy  breathless  mountain  of  beloved  flesh. 

Digby  had  begged  Mary  and  Madeleine  to  stay 
in  the  City  also  but  they  had  only  looked  at  him  out 
of  offended  and  pitying  eyes;  the  three  went  to 
Mountain  Acre  in  a  borrowed  motor-car  because  the 
trains  had  stopped  running.  Junior  rushed  out  to 
meet  them ;  he  at  least  was  gay,  no  consideration  of 
danger  for  himself  or  others  could  stifle  his  un 
bounded  joy  at  this  showered  benefit  from  a  Provi 
dence  too  long  parsimonious  with  the  least  of  gifts. 
He  hugged  and  kissed  his  mother  till  she  gasped 
for  breath ;  then  hugged  and  kissed  Madeleine,  pum- 
meled  her,  ordered  her  to  take  down  her  hair  so  he 
could  pull  it  as  of  yore. 

"Oh,  Junior!"  begged  Madeleine  in  a  strangely 
subdued  voice.  She  would  not  be  his  playmate  but 
hurried  to  her  room,  pulled  out  all  her  bureau  draw 
ers,  emptied  them  of  their  contents  discarded  months 

196 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ago  and  sorted  out  one  garment  after  another  with 
an  avid  eagerness  and  pitifully  tremulous  lips.  She 
had  outgrown  all  her  clothes;  her  beauty  was  as 
great  as  ever  but  it  had  an  air  of  inevitable  im 
modesty,  of  unbecoming  nakedness. 

Of  all  the  force  of  the  Pico  mine,  Pat  Hogan 
alone  remained.  During  Mary's  absence  he  had 
taken  on  the  duties  of  the  entire  staff  of  household 
retainers ;  with  Junior  for  helper  he  was  cook,  laun 
dress,  gardener  and  stable  hand.  Even  so  he  had 
time  to  loaf  with  his  pipe  on  the  gallery  of  an  eve 
ning  and  regale  his  two  hearers  with  Irish  tales 
galore  and  minute-long  near-oaths  on  the  character 
istics  of  all  races  not  individually  descended  from 
kings.  He  still  clung  solemnly  to  the  assertion  that 
herself,  the  missus,  wasn't  up  to  being  out  the  day 
but  he  none  the  less  relegated  to  her  the  duty  of 
keeping  watch  over  the  mill  and  zinc-room. 

Time  hung  heavy  on  his  hands  after  the  return 
of  Mary  and  Madeleine,  who  laughingly  refused  to 
let  him  more  than  wipe  the  dishes,  but  not  for  long. 
On  an  afternoon  marked  by  that  dreamy,  infinite 
peace  so  characteristic  of  Mountain  Acre  the 
sounds  of  strange  voices  and  clanking  spurs  were 

197 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

suddenly  heard  upon  the  gallery.  Junior  was  the 
first  to  hear  the  noise ;  he  hurried  to  the  door,  peeped 
out  and  then  came  back  hastily  in  search  of  his 
father. 

"There's  a  bunch  of  men  on  the  terrace,  Father," 
he  said  quietly  but  under  evident  restraint  "You'd 
better  come  out  with  me." 

Digby  rose  to  his  feet  with  the  lithe  movement  of 
a  panther,  apparently  deliberate  but  in  reality  swift. 
"Richard!"  he  said  sharply,  "go  to  your  mother  and 
Madeleine ;  keep  them  away ;  stay  with  them ;  never 
leave  them.  I  mean  that ;  every  word  of  it." 

"Don't  worry  about  me,  Father,"  replied  Junior, 
his  face  white  but  his  eyes  shining.  "I'll  do  exactly 
as  you  say." 

Digby  strode  out  to  the  gallery,  his  head  up,  the 
stoop  gone  from  his  shoulders.  A  large  group  of 
men  was  gathered  there;  their  horses  were  tethered 
in  the  garden  and  along  the  driveway.  The  men 
were  a  nondescript  lot  but  they  were  all  armed  with 
both  carbines  and  revolvers.  Digby  greeted  them 
with  an  uncringing  smile  of  good-fellowship  but  it 
met  with  no  response  from  their  lowering  faces. 
They  seemed  to  have  no  leader. 

198 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Spik  Spanish  ?"  demanded  one  of  them. 

"You  know  I  do,"  replied  Digby.  "What  do  you 
want?" 

"Fifty  thousand  pesos,"  replied  the  spokesman. 

"Fifty  thousand  pesos!"  cried  Digby.  The  mere 
sound  of  that  sum  of  money  made  him  laugh  aloud, 
and  on  the  instant  he  was  set  upon,  seized,  and 
bound  with  a  halter-rope  to  a  pillar  of  the  pergola. 
An  evil-looking,  low-class  white  whom  he  had  once 
employed  stepped  forward,  spit  on  him  and  slapped 
his  face.  "Yes,"  he  said,  with  the  bravado  of  the 
protected  coward,  "feefty  tousand  pesos." 

Digby  looked  gravely  from  one  man  to  another. 
"Some  of  you  know  me,"  he  said.  "You  know  that 

• 

I  never  lie.  All  the  money  I  have  in  the  world  is  in 
my  left  trousers  pocket." 

Two  or  three  of  them  approached  him  with  the 
leisurely  dignity  that  seldom  deserts  a  member  of 
their  race,  be  he  gentleman  or  bandit.  They  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  bunch  of  keys,  a  great  roll  of  al 
most  worthless  bills  and  half  a  dozen  gold  coins ;  the 
bills,  which  were  of  their  own  high  commander's 
issue,  they  threw  in  his  face. 

It  was  at  this  stage  of  the  game  that  Pat  Hogan, 
199 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

coming  from  the  mine,  rushed  into  the  group  on  the 
gallery  and  lifted  up  his  voice  and  great  freckled  fists 
in  eloquent  rage.  "Ye  blatherumskites  o'  half- 
grown  stirks,"  he  yelled,  "take  a  sup  of  the  length 
and  breadth  of  me  tongue.  If  you  don't  cut  your 
stick  out  o'  here,  I'll  strell  your  guts  from  Ballyhooly 
to  the  back  of  God-sped.  You'll  get  no  money  here, 
not  the  last  taste  in  life  of  the  price  your  faythers 
paid  up  the  lane  of  shame  to  the  straddies  that  bore 
you.  Spal — !" 

A  bullet  cut  the  word  in  two,  plunged  into  his 
breast;  a  look  of  childish  wonder,  of  frightened 
awakening  and  dawning  horror  spread  over  his  face 
as  he  fell  toward  the  shot,  sprawling,  his  great  arms 
outspread,  his  knees  sharply  crooked.  His  hat  rolled 
away,  disclosing  a  shock  of  red  hair  damp  at  the 
forehead.  He  raised  his  glazing  blue  eyes  to  Digby's 
face  and  murmured  just  before  the  blood  rushed  up 
from  his  lungs  to  choke  him,  "I'm  thinking  long  till 
I  see  my  mother." 

All  the  sadness  in  the  world  was  in  Digby's  voice 
as  he  looked  about  and  asked,  "Why  did  you  do 
that?" 

"He  was  noisy,"  said  one.  "He  'talked  too  much." 
200 


The  white  who  had  spit  on  him  stepped  forwanJ, 
holding  out  the  bunch  of  keys.  "Show  us  the  one  to 
the  zinc-room,"  he  demanded  hoarsely. 

Digby  obeyed.  They  consulted  and  argued  in  low 
voices,  disputed,  gesticulated,  and  excited  by  the 
flamboyant  statements  of  the  low  white  who  never 
in  his  life  had  been  allowed  to  enter  the  zinc-room 
and  who  consequently  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  was  a  treasure-house  of  easily  lifted  wealth  they 
moved  off  in  a  body  along  the  path  to  the  mine. 
Digby  waited  until  the  last  of  them,  gesticulating  to 
himself,  had  turned  the  sharp  corner  and  then  called 
"Junior!"  The  boy  ran  out  quickly,  opening  his 
knife  as  he  came. 

"That's  right,"  said  his  father  with  a  terrible 
calm,  as  Junior  slashed  the  halter-rope.  "Now  get 
your  mother  and  Madeleine." 

"Mother  can't  come,"  said  Junior. 

"Can't  come?    Why  not?"  demanded  Digby. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy,  his  eyes  filling  with 
tears. 

Digby  rushed  into  the  house  and  returned  pres 
ently  bearing  Mary  in  his  arms.  Her  face  was 
twisted,  her  limbs  powerless,  but  there  was  a  look  in 

201 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

her  eyes  as  though  she  were  trying  desperately  to 
smile.    Madeleine  followed,  sobbing. 

"Don't  cry,  Madeleine,"  commanded  her  father. 
"Get  on  a  horse ;  pick  a  good  one." 

In  a  flash,  Junior  grasped  his  father's  plan;  he 
rushed  ahead,  untethered  all  but  three  of  the  horses, 
gathered  their  reins  and  tied  them  one  to  another; 
then  he  helped  his  father  with  his  mother. 

"Now,  Madeleine,"  said  Digby  cheerfully,  "be 
a  cowboy.  Drive  the  horses  before  you,  but  don't 
let  them  turn  down  the  hill." 

Madeleine  was  an  excellent  rider;  she  caught  the 
quirt  which  Junior  tossed  to  her  and  drove  the 
ponies  tethered  to  each  other  in  a  plunging  mass 
slowly  down  the  driveway  toward  the  highroad.  She 
knew  too  much  to  press  them  through  the  open  gate ; 
she  let  them  turn  unhindered  down  the  hill,  passed 
them  quietly  on  the  far  side  and  then  whirled  at 
them,  turned  them  up  the  road  and  took  them  past 
the  entrance  to  Mountain  Acre,  where  Junior  and 
her  father  steadying  Mary  had  just  arrived,  at  a 
brisk,  high-headed  trot. 

"Madeleine  is  a  born  cowpuhcHer,"   murmured 
"I  wonder  where  she  learned  that  trick." 
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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"She  knows  horses,"  said  Junior,  "You  told  her 
not  to  let  them  turn  down  the  hill." 

"So  I  did,"  said  Digby  absently,  his  fingers  mov 
ing  tenderly  on  Mary's  arm.  "I  was  wrong;  she 
knew  better." 

His  mind  was  dazed  with  grief  for  Pat,  faithful 
perhaps  far  beyond  intention,  but  who  had  never 
theless  paid  the  last  price  without  a  murmur ;  it  was 
stunned  and  numb  for  Mary,  his  wife,  his  lover,  his 
helpmate,  flesh  of  his  flesh.  He  looked  wistfully  at 
her  distorted  face  and  saw  only  beauty;  but  as  he 
looked  he  awoke,  came  out  of  his  perilous  trance. 

"Junior,"  he  said,  "steady  your  mother."  Then 
he  slipped  back  over  the  high  cantle  of  the  short- 
seated  saddle  to  his  horse's  haunches  and  held  out 
his  hands  for  Mary,  drew  her  to  a  firm  and  comfort 
able  seat  before  him,  wrapped  his  arms  about  her 
and  held  her  securely.  "Now,  boy,"  he  called,  "drive 
this  horse  till  we  kill  him ;  there  are  plenty  more." 

Madeleine,  far  ahead,  turned  in  her  saddle  and 
looked  back,  startled,  in  answer  to  the  suddenly  clat 
tering  hoofs.  In  a  moment  she  comprehended;  a 
smile  curved  her  lips,  then  they  grew  set  and  her 
eyes  flashed  as  she  lashed  the  ponies  before  her  into 

203 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

a  wild  gallop.  They  plunged  with  heaving  bounds 
up  the  steep  ascent  to  Huichilac,  turned  the  sharp 
corner  in  a  rain  of  sparks  from  the  cobblestones  and 
flattened  out  on  the  mild  ascent  toward  the  town  of 
the  Three  Marys  into  a  steady,  reaching  run. 

On  the  long  flat  beyond  Parres  ten  miles  from 
Mountain  Acre  she  stopped  them  at  a  waved  signal 
from  Junior  riding  alone.  He  came  up  with  her, 
said  nothing,  but  cast  her  a  look  of  loving  approba 
tion  and  boundless  admiration,  singled  out  the 
heaviest  and  least  blown  of  the  remounts  and  trotted 
him  back  to  meet  his  father,  whose  horse  was  ad 
vancing  only  in  a  staggering  walk.  Mary  was  trans 
ferred  and  the  whole  party  started  on  at  a  brisk 
pace,  bringing  her  to  welcome  rest  at  the  American 
Hospital  just  before  nightfall. 


"Come,  my  son,  a  riddle  or  I  sleep  and  wake  no 
more." 

"What  is  it  that  is  light  and  darkness,  seen  and  not 
seen,  heard  and  not  heard,  misunderstood  yet  compre 
hended,  believed  and-  unbelieved,  loved  and  detested — " 

"Enough.  The  truth  writhing  off  the  end  of  a  man's 
tongue." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  the  period  that  followed  Digby  found  himself 
immersed  to  one  of  the  lower  stratas  in  that 
dead  sea  of  catastrophe  which  spread  its  numbing 
weight  over  a  nation  submerged,  cutting  short  the 
vision  of  all  those  who  suffered  by  the  inundation 
and  presenting  a  blank,  confusing  and  unfathomable 
negation  to  the  home  government  which  amid 
many  other  distractions  was  driven  by  the  cries  of 
its  drowning  nationals  to  efforts  praiseworthy  in 
themselves  but  unfortunately  directed  toward  per 
ception  rather  than  toward  immediate  action  and 
relief. 

In  frequent  attempts  to  understand  the  incompre 
hensible,  it  sent  envoys  of  every  category  out  upon 
the  troubled  waters.  They  were  as  men  in  row- 
boats  on  an  open  sea.  Encased  within  their  peculiar 
limitations  like  divers  against  exterior  permeation 
and  fed  through  a  tube  with  foreign  air,  they 
plunged  into  the  penumbra,  bewildered  walked  with 
the  lost  on  the  mountainous  ocean  floor,  asked  them 

206 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

questions  in  a  forgotten  language  of  freedom  and 
heard  in  muffled  answer  the  unreasoning  cry  of  the 
oppressed  not  for  understanding  of  that  which  their 
own  sealed  eyes  could  not  encompass  but  for  plain, 
ordinary,  every-day  salvage. 

To  these  emissaries,  linked  safely  to  an  outer 
world,  untrammeled  during  their  cursory  inspection 
of  the  distressed -country  by  those  sordid,  but  none 
the  less  tenacious  ligaments  which  bind  man  inex 
orably  to  that  place  and  condition  where  he  has  best 
learned  to  meet  the  immediate  exigencies  of  life, — 
food,  shelter  and  raiment  not  for  future  genera 
tions  but  for  to-day,  for  himself  and  for  the  wife 
and  children  to  be  met  at  evening  in  the  actual  flesh, — 
there  appeared  to  be  no  better  counsel  than  the  dis 
tracted  order  to  do  the  impossible,  to  evacuate.  These 
envoys  withdrew,  not  always  complacent,  bemused, 
not  quite  blinded,  leaving  behind  them  shears  of 
cheese  to  cut  a  Gordian  knot  of  tangled  sinews. 
The  world  never  wearies  of  telling  its  neighbour  to 
lift  himself  by  his  own  boot-straps. 

To  add  gall  to  wormwood,  American  and  Brit 
ish  cruisers,  chafing  under  unequivocal  orders, 
had  stood  by  while  three  hundred  American  men, 

207 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

women  and  children  barricaded  against  a  mob  were 
rescued  by  Germans  from  a  German  warship;  a 
tale  in  itself  which,  despite  many  tellings,  never  fails 
to  bring  tears  of  shame  and  regret  for  the  double 
stain  on  an  ancient  tradition. 

This  chronicle  of  cause  and  effect  seeks  a  plane 
above  individual  censure;  its  mission  is  one  of  illu 
mination,  of  illustration  of  the  eternal  truth  that  in 
the  dark  all  men  step  in  puddles ;  but  it  asks  a  judg 
ment  of  the  heart  for  Ellerton  and  for  others  who 
in  those  trying  days  dripped  bitterness  from  un 
bridled  tongues  and,  red- faced  and  angry-eyed,  tried 
but  in  vain  to  tear  down  the  shrine  of  patriotism 
within  their  breasts  built  by  hands  long  dead  on 
frontier,  battle-field  and  ship  of  the  line.  For 
Digby,  the  merciful,  no  mercy  is  asked;  he  needs 
no  defense  whom  time  can  not  obliterate. 

His  hair  gone  gray,  his  dark  brows  gathered  in  a 
constant  concentration  of  thought,  his  deep-set  eyes 
filled  with  a  troubled  brooding,  his.  tanned  cheeks 
sunken  to  long  sweeping  lines  of  strength,  his  shoul 
ders  bowed  and  his  thin,,  wiry  fingers  nervously 
busied  with  the  cheapest  of  cigarettes,  he  was  to  be 
found  near  but  seldom,  within  the  excited  groups 

208 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

gathering  in  the  clubs  which  he  still  frequented 
though  he  never  bought  nor  accepted  a  drink.  He 
listened  to  every  one,  but  rarely  interrupted  any  but 
Ellerton. 

There  is  no  broken  pride  like  that  of  the  man 
who  having  lived  and  held  his  own  amid  affluence 
looks  around  the  room  and  knows  himself  the  debtor 
of  every  friend  present.  Digby  had  but  one  pos 
session  worthy  of  the  name,  his  large  share  in  the 
life  value  of  the  Pico  mine.  That  holding  was  tem 
porarily  worthless;  it  was  not  only  unproductive 
but  absolutely  unsalable.  What  else  he  had  in  the 
world,  a  mere  nothing,  he  sold ;  then,  his  mind  tor 
mented  by  thoughts  of  little  things  once  lightly  held, 
clothing,  silver  spoons,  bibelots  of  value,  portable 
articles  of  market  worth,  he  slunk  back  to  Mountain 
Acre  over  the  trackless  hills  and  at  the  hourly  risk 
of  his  life. 

When  first  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the  devastation 
of  the  Pico  mine,  wrecked  by  terrific  overcharges  of 
dynamite  in  merciless  revenge,  such  a  lump  rose  to 
his  throat  that  he  raised  his  hand  to  thrust  it  down 
lest  it  strangle  him.  Clutching  his  neck,  he  felt  the 
hammering  of  his  pulse  in  abnormally  distended  ar- 

209 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

teries ;  his  head  reeled  and  he  reached  gropingly  for 
a  stone  upon  which  to  sit  down. 

"An  even  mind,"  he  murmured  aloud,  "God  give 
me  an  even  mind." 

Strengthened  by  that  appeal  to  the  best  within 
himself,  he  arose,  climbed  the  rugged  spur  which 
cut  off  mine  from  Mountain  Acre  and  descended  the 
steep  wooded  incline  to  the  garden  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  of  which  he  had*caught  a  sufficient  glimpse 
to  know  that  it  still  stood. 

Eight  months  had  passed'  since  the  afternoon  of 
Pat's  death ;  eight  months  of  reading  to  Mary  every 
day,  of  looking  wistfully  at  her  twisted  face,  trans 
parent  hands,  wan  cheeks  and  brilliant  imprisoned 
eyes;  eight  months  of  watching  anxiously  over 
Madeleine,  of  trying  to  arouse  her  from  a  stupour 
of  arrested  youth,  of  taking  her  to  and  from  a  busi 
ness  college  where  she  might  learn  to  earn  and  fend 
for  that  self  which  had'  once  been  so  exuberantly 
secure  of  the  cream  and  the  froth  of  life;  eight 
months  of  accepting  help  from  Ellerton  andjatterly 
even  Richard,  Jr.,  proud  to  be  a  clerk  at  twenty-five 
dollars  a  week. 

In  that  short  eternity  the  privet  hedge  had  sent 
210 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

out  long,  tender  shoots  streaking  across  the  sky  as 
though  in  frightened  disarray;  rust  had  gathered  on 
the  rose-leaves,  crumpling  them  up  in.  burned,  dis 
torted  shapes,  the  bushes  were  laden  with  sodden 
petals  and  hard,  unnatural  seed  pods.  Grass  had 
died  in  the  lawn  and  sprung  up  wherever  it  should 
not  grow.  The  door  to  the  kitchen  hung  ripped 
from  its  upper  hinges.  He  crept  to  it  stealthily,  en 
tered,  looked  around  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart  at 
the  wanton  destruction  of  the  fixtures  to  which  he 
and  Mary  had  given  so  much  thought  and  care,  and 
passed  on  to  baths,  bed-,  dining-  and  living-rooms. 
The  house  still  stood.  It  was  a  mournful  echo 
ing  shell,  a  wreck,  a  derelict,  an  empty  tomb,  await 
ing  the  burial  of  all  those  happy  memories  to  which 
it  had  given  such  prolific  birth.  What  could  not  be 
stolen  had  been  outraged  by  vandal  hands ;  even  the 
plaster  on  the  walls  and  the  parquet  floors  had  been 
ruthlessly  gashed  with  axes.  Many  things  had  been 
destroyed  in  the  taking,  hangings  dragged  from 
their  fastenings  by  the  impatience  of  greed,  picture 
frames  cut  down  to  crash  and  crumble,  toilet  fixtures 
cracked  and  broken  for  the  lack  of  the  aid  of  a 
wrench.  Mary's  lovely  piano  had  been  torn  limb 

211 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

from  limb  and  the  tough  mahogany  showed  where 
it  had  stood  the  test  of  a  fire  built  against  the  dis 
membered  heap. 

"How  it  must  have  cried  out,"  whispered  Digby. 

Of  other  heavy  pieces  of  furniture  only  parts 
were  missing;  the  drawers  from  bureaus,  tops  from 
tables,  looking-glasses  from  dressers.  What  could 
not  be  made  of  immediate  use  in  hovels  where  life 
demanded  few  conveniences  and  no  refinements  had 
been  broken,  burnt,  crushed  underfoot.  From  a 
shadowed  corner  he  rescued  one  single  object  of 
personal  value,  his  favourite  pipe. 

In  that  hour  of  poignant,  overwhelming  distress, 
the  finding  of  the  beloved  pipe  assumed  to  Digby  the 
proportions  of  a  miracle  of  good-fortune.  He  picked 
up  the  companion  of  many  a  blissfully  contented 
hour,  rubbed  it  clean  on  his  sleeve  of  the  splattering 
of  powdered  plaster  and  examined  every  curl  and 
wisp  of  the  lovely  grain.  How  cold  the  briarwood 
bowl  seemed  to  his  caressing  touch,  as  though  feeling 
itself  abandoned  by  the  kindly  warmth  of  fire  and 
friendship,  it  had  gone  forever  dead!  He  smiled 
•and  still  smiling  passed  on  to  the  front  door. 

It  was   closed,   though   many   a   window   hung 

212 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

broken  and  open.  As  if  held  by  unseen  hands  it 
resisted  his  efforts  to  throw  it  wide  and  let  light 
into  the  gloomy,  musty  hall.  He  persevered  and 
tore  it  loose  from  the  grip  of  a  hundred  tendrils  of 
encroaching  vines.  So  overgrown  with  rank  vegeta 
tion  had  the  pergola  become  that  no  burst  of  free 
daylight  greeted  his  eyes,  hungry  for  the  simplest 
element  of  cheer.  He  peered  out  into  the  golden 
shadows  of  the  veiling  foliage  and  his  gaze  suddenly 
widened  to  a  sight  of  horror.  They  had  added 
shame  to  murder  and  hung  Pat's  body  to  a  trellis 
beam. 

Digby  went  sadly  into  the  garden,  found  an  old 
rusty  spade  with  broken  handle  and  dug  a  grave  in 
a  nook  of  infinite  quiet,  of  stillness  so  secure  that  it 
seemed  a  denial  of  the  past,  of  the  memory  of  pat 
tering  feet  and  children's  cries  at  play;  then  he  cut 
down  the  horror  that  had  once  been  Pat,  wrapped  it 
in  a  torn,  stained  window  curtain  and  laid  it  away  to 
rest.  It  was  night  before  he  turned,  weary,  hungry 
and  sore  at  heart,  to  climb  and  feel  his  way  through 
the  mountain  wilderness.  His  dreams  of  coming 
back  laden  with  clothing  or  salable  articles  had  been 
demolished,  but  something  saved  him  from  the  de- 

213 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

pression  of  utter  failure.  He  would  smile,  wonder 
why  he  was  smiling  and  then  remember  the  old  pipe 
nestling  in  his  pocket. 

On  a  certain  day  Ellerton  came  into  town  on  one  of 
his  periodical  visits  to  his  family.  Digby,  going  his 
methodical  rounds  of  the  clubs,  was  glad  to  see  his 
son-in-law,  watched  him  with  a  kindly  gleam  in  his 
eyes,  but  did  not  force  himself  to  the  front.  This  un 
wonted  diffidence,  with  its  terrible  implication  of 
how  far  he  had  fallen  in  his  own  -esteem  and  conse 
quently  been  lowered  in  that  of  others,  did  not  seem 
to  him  an  unnatural  thing;  it  never  occurred  to  him 
to  contrast  it  with  the  quiet  assumption  of  con 
scious  power  which  had  once  marked  his  contact 
with  all  the  world.  He  knew,  however,  why  he  was 
so  glad  to  see  Ellerton ;  it  was  because  Trawley  was 
gone  after  the  murder  of  three  of  his  staff;  because 
Temple  had  left  .after  risking  his  very  life  in  a 
refusal  to  bow  down  to  robbery  under  government 
arms;  because  Dawton,  slow  in  movement  and  in 
speech,  sure  in  judgment,  had  had  the  idol  of  his 
labours  first  confiscated  and  then  wrecked  and  had 
turned  his  back  on  the  ruin. 

These  men  were  gone  and  many  more  so  that  the 
prosperous  City  colony,  once  of  ten  thousand,  was 

214 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

reduced  to  as  many  hundreds,  a  residue  formed  of 
those  who  like  Ellerton  refused  with  a  blazing-eyed 
stubbornness  to  yield  to  anything  short  of  death 
their  right  to  the  protection  to  which  they  were  born, 
of  those  who  like  Digby  and  hundreds  of  others 
could  not  leave  and  live;  and  finally,  of  those  who 
felt  secure,  laughed  at  danger  or  saw  a  chance  to 
make  good  money  at  mere  risk  of  life.  Such  whole 
sale  withdrawals  necessarily  made  wide  gaps  in 
every  man's  individual  circle  and  Digby's  was  all  the 
more  drastically  reduced  as  he  had  never  been  more 
than  a  transient  in  the  Capital.  So  he  was  glad  to 
see  Ellerton  and  hear  him  talk. 

Of  living  from  hand  to  mouth,  of  descending 
steadily  from  expedient  to  expedient,  subterfuge  to 
subterfuge,  Digby  had  now  known  over  four  years. 
During  their  daily  passing  they  had  crawled  on 
laggard  feet  but  as  he  looked  back  upon  that  long 
season  of  weary  waiting,  of  aching  hope  heartlessly 
deferred,  it  seemed  to  him  an  instantaneous  night 
mare  from  which  he  might  yet  awake  to  his  lost 
happiness  and  to  the  old  comfort  for  those  he  so 
profoundly  loved  could  he  but  hold  his  mind  to  an 
even  keel. 

It  was  already  some  time  since  the  refugees  of  the 
215 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

great  exodus  of  1914  and  of  the  later  one  of  1916, 
had  begun  to  return  first  singly,  then  in  groups  of 
twos  and  threes  and  finally  by  families.  They  had 
been  talking  in  the  club  of  losses,  tragic  only  to  the 
individual,  of  the  hardships  of  the  enforced  journey 
on  swarming  transports,  of  the  trials  to  women  ac 
customed  to  lavish  wardrobes  landing  with  filthy 
children  against  the  contrast  of  the  homeland  in 
somnolent  peace  and  which  was  inclined  to  stare 
wonderingly  but  uninterested  at  these  discomfited 
people  whose  faces  burned  with  the  shame  of  taking 
charity  in  complacent  substitution  for  justice. 

To  this  informal  caucus  came  the  news  of  the 
blowing  up  of  a  train  and  the  massacre  of  seventeen 
Americans  who  had  been  assured  of  local  protec 
tion.  Ellerton  whirled  on  Digby,  his  eyes  full  of 
wrath.  "Four  years  ago,  Dick,  and  you  thought  it 
would  be  a  little  matter  of  weeks !  Four  years  of 
scavenging  by  every  element,  each  rottener  than  the 
other,  that  can  arm  a  band  of  cutthroats.  Do  you 
remember  it,  Dick  ?  Publish  broadcast  to  every  one 
assuming  authority  that  our  fortunes  would  be  vigi 
lantly  watched,  that  those  responsible  for  our  suf 
ferings  and  losses  would  be  held  to  a  definite  reckon- 

216 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ing!  Oh,  Lord,  how  long!"  His  eyes  suddenly 
dropped.  "Suffering!"  he  added,  "in  what  kind  of 
cash  does  one  repay  suffering?" 

"Keep  an  even  mind,  Rox,"  said  Digby,  with  an 
earnestness  which  showed  how  deeply  he  was 
moved.  His  hearers  smiled  indulgently  at  the 
phrase;  for  many  months  now  he  had  been  known 
as  "Even-mind  Digby."  To  any  one  acquainted  with 
his  history  this  nickname  marked  a  transition,  a 
complete  substitution  of  personality;  there  had  once 
been  a  Dick  Digby,  pointed  out  by  the  young  and 
ambitious,  respected  by  all,  a  man  of  solid  attain 
ments  whose  weight  gave  ponderance  to  the  justice 
within  him;  now  they  could  smile  indulgently  when 
"Even-mind"  spoke. 

"Give  them  time,  Rox,"  he  continued,  his  eyes 
and  cheeks  burning  with  suppressed  ardour.  "They 
have  got  a  lot  to  think  about  just  now.  A  dog 
doesn't  stop  to  scratch  fleas  when  he's  baiting  a 
bear." 

"No,"  said  Ellerton  quickly,  "but  did  you  ever 
hear  of  a  man  too  much  in  a  hurry  to  crush  a  bed 
bug?" 

He  took  a  short  nervous  turn  and  glanced  at  the 
217 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

men  around  him.  "Times  have  changed,"  he  said. 
"When  I  was  a  kid  at  school  there  were  two  names 
which  used  to  bring  a  gleam  to  every  boy's  eyes ;  a 
flush  to  his  cheek.  One  was  Decatur  and  the  other 
was  Farragut.  The  Barbary  Pirates  could  collect 
tribute  and  lives  for  a  century  from  every  power  in 
Europe  but  not  from  a  two-by-four  youngster  of  a 
Republic  whose  conception  of  justice  reached  around 
the  world ;  Farragut  could  go  for  two  years  without 
a  bed  of  his  own  in  order  that  he  might  the  better 
track  down  the  buccaneers  of  the  Caribbean.  Could 
you  have  thought  that  the  day  would  come  when 
school  children  would  be  taught  that  an  American 
who  lets  go  of  the  apron  strings  of  his  mother- 
country  by  that  act  becomes  a  national  outcast  ?" 

"Steady,  Rox,"  said  Digby. 

"Steady !"  cried  Ellerton.  "Be  steady  before  the 
spectacle  of  a  country  of  our  traditions  first  raising 
to  its  feet  and  then  supporting  the  greatest  delib 
erately  and  cynically  piratical  combination  ever  put 
across  by  man,  a  tyranny  of  the  few  which  destroys 
us  and  the  work  of  years,  merely  as  an  incident  to 
feeding  upon  its  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  Am  I  lying  ? 
Who  here  doesn't  know  that  four-fifths  of  this  coun- 

218 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

try  is  being  trampled  into  the  mire  by  a  machine 
which  turns  out  high-sounding  laws  in  a  stillborn 
stream  with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  raises 
the  black  banner  of  murder,  rapine,  petty  graft, 
robbery  under  arms,  robbery  by  international 
trickery,  hails  dishonour  as  a  new-found  virtue 
of  immaculate  conception,  a  sort  of  substitute 
emblem  for  the  Virgin  of  Guadulupe  and  still 
finds  opportunity  to  fill  with  foulness  the  mis 
guided  hand  of  friendship  extended  by  a  print- 
blinded  neighbour?" 

Every  eye  turned  on  Digby,  curious  as  to  what 
answer  his  even  mind  would  find  to  an  accusation 
whose  proofs  were  believed  to  be  self-evident.  He 
sat  silent,  shaking  his  head  from  side  to  side. 

"When  I  came  into  town  to-day,"  continued  El- 
lerton,  "I  was  walking  down  the  Paseo  and  I  saw  a 
young  American  sitting  on  one  of  the  benches,  evi 
dently  out  of  work,  hard  up  and  half  starving,  but 
he  was  smiling.  I  stopped  and  I  said,  'What  the 
hell  are  you  laughing  about?'  Well,  what  do  you 
think  he  was  smiling  about?" 

"Tell  us,"  said  some  one. 

"He  said,  'I'm  laughing  because  I've  just  found 
219 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

out  that  their  women  are  of  two  classes :  those  who 
smell  and  those  who  smell  of  perfume.' ' 

"Rox !"  cried  Digby. 

"I  know,"  said  Ellerton  impatiently,  "an  even 
mind.  Well,  there's  something  the  matter  with  an 
even  mind  which  can't  see  that  we,  our  people  at 
home,  have  planted  the  seed  and  nursed  an  abscess 
of  famine  and  oppression  which  when  it  bursts 
will  shower  on  our  door-step,  where  it  rightly  be 
longs,  such  a  heritage  as  will  splatter  the  fair  name 
of  our  grandchildren  and  of  theirs.  I  wonder 
if  we'll  wake  up  and  if  we  ever  do,  how  I'd  like  to 
see  the  faces  of  our  people  when  they  draw  in  and 
smell  their  hand,  pudgy  with  altruism,  which  has 
been  patting  on  the  back  the  masters  of  a  national 
slave  market  who  hold  for  hire  the  strangled  bodies 
of  every  virtue  in  the  calendar. 

Digby  clutched  his  hands  lying  on  the  table  be 
fore  him  until  the  knuckles  showed  white.  "I  be 
lieve,'*  he  said  in  a  clear  voice,  "that  all  men  aspire 
to  an  equal  justice,  that  when  we  hear  a  man  cry 
out  even  in  the  stilted  phrases  of  altruistic  laws 
we  ought  to  take  it  for  a  measure  of  his  vision.  I 
do  not  admit  that  an  ideal  can  be  besmirched  by  pol 
luted  hands.  On  the  other  hand,"  he  continued, 

220 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

with  a  peculiar  added  resonance  to  his  deep  voice, 
"all  pollution  carries  with  it  a  demand  for  sanitation, 
a  wail  to  the  ruling  powers  among  men  for  execu 
tion  as  a  step  toward  immediate  justice  as  opposed 
to  a  scholastic  theorem." 

"You've  caught  it,"  cried  Ellerton,  "even  you.  If 
our  people  who  gave  that  order  to  twenty  thousand 
of  their  own  flesh  and  blood  to  tear  up  their  roots 
and  run  had  first  gone  on  their  knees  before  the 
innermost  shrine  we  all  possess,  humbled  themselves 
with  sackcloth  and  ashes,  beaten  their  bowed  heads 
on  the  lowest  step  of  the  throne  of  divine  justice, 
called  upon  the  Almighty  to  guide  the  words  of  their 
mouths  and  pledged  their  immortal  souls  to  give 
body  to  the  spoken  truth,  God  wouldn't  seem  a 
traitor  to  every  man  here  to-day." 

"Perhaps  they  did,"  interrupted  Digby.  "We 
know  that  George  Washington  did  a  thing  like  that, 
and  Lincoln;  perhaps  thousands  besides  the  ruling 
few  did  just  what  you  say." 

"No!"  roared  Ellerton.  "No  people  with  a  pal 
sied  right  hand  was  ever  the  mouthpiece  of  God. 
Do  you  think  I  haven't  wondered  how  it  happened 
and  seen  it?  We  bothered  them,  God  knows  we 
did;  and  some  clerk  in  Washington  must  hare  had 

221 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

a  brain-wave  and  said,  'I've  got  it ;  why  not  tell  the 
lot  of  them  to  get  out?'  " 

"Rox,"  cried  Digby,  "I  won't  take  that  even  from 
you.  You  don't  know  it.  I  tell  you,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  our  communal  faculty  of  saying  a  bit  too 
much,  drawing  the  long  bow  when  a  short  one 
would  do,  we  might  not  be  standing  where  we  are 
to-day.  Take  the  oil  interests;  all  they  had  to  do 
was  to  print  the  clause  of  the  constitution  which 
stated  that  petroleum  rights  were  purchasable  and 
throw  in  for  good  measure  proof  that  they  didn't 
hold  one  square  foot  of  ground  by  gift  or  conces 
sion.  If  they'd  stood  pat  on  just  that,  said  it  and 
said  it  again  and  not  another  word,  there  never 
would  have  been  an  argument.  We  had  a  tale  of 
outrage;  some  of  us  tried  to  make  it  into  one  of 
horror.  When  the  horror  really  came,  we  cried  it 
to  deaf  ears." 

He  arose,  picked  up  his  hat  and  left  the  club;  El- 
lerton  followed  him.  As  they  walked  up  the  ave 
nue  they  came  upon  an  open  patio,  glanced  in 
through  the  great  open  doors  of  wrought  iron  and 
stopped  on  a  common  impulse.  The  patio  was  car 
peted  with  a  huge  Persian  rug  upon  which  soldiers 
were  bivouacked  in  lounging  groups  while  others 

222 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

arriving  rode  their  horses  across  it  to  the  stabling 
beyond. 

"Dick,"  said  Ellerton,  "do  you  remember  what 
that  rug  cost  ?" 

"I  never  knew,"  said  Digby. 

"Forty  thousand  dollars,"  said  Ellerton.  "Now, 
let's  have  some  fun  and  perhaps  make  a  killing." 

He  advanced  on  the  guard  and  asked,  "Who  is 
in  command  here?" 

The  guard  shrugged  one  shoulder  and  spat  peril 
ously  near  Ellerton's  foot.  He  drew  it  back  quietly 
and  whispered,  "I'll  give  ten  pesos  gold  for  the  car 
pet  and  a  hundred  paper  to  the  men  who'll  carry  it 
home  for  me  to-night" 

The  guard's  face  immediately  produced  a  look  of 
intelligence  as  though  a  secret  spring  had  been 
pressed.  He  went  into  the  yard  to  hold  a  consul 
tation  and  Ellerton,  his  pulses  beating  rapidly  at 
the  thought  of  the  coup  he  was  about  to  make,  took 
advantage  to  look  within.  He  drew  back  and  pay 
ing  no  heed  to  the  anxious  shout  of  the  guard  took 
Digby  by  the  elbow  and  urged  him  away.  "They've 
hacked  great  squares  out  of  one  side  of  it  for  saddle- 
blankets,"  he  explained. 

Digby  drew  a  deep  sigh  but  it  was  Ellerton  who 
223 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

first  broke  the  heavy  silence.  "Dick,"  he  said,  "it's 
that  sort  of  outrage  that  breaks  your  heart.  This 
country  produces  not  a  single  thing  except  through 
the  gift  of  God  or  the  grace  of  foreigners.  You  and 
I  have  traveled  it  through  and  through  yet  neither 
one  of  us  has  even  seen  a  live  native  industry;  not 
one.  That  statement  is  enough  in  itself  to  damn  any 
people  that  calls  itself  civilized,  but  the  worst  of  it  is 
that  because  they  can't  produce  they  hate  creation 
and  its  creators  and  take  it  out  in  brutal  destruction 
of  inanimate  things ;  the  greater  the  beauty  the 
quicker  the  blow.  Vicious  children  with  the  tear 
ing  hands  of  apes." 

Digby  felt  that  he  had  no  more  strength  to  com 
bat  Ellerton's  mood  and  tried  to  change  the  subject. 
"Heard  from  headquarters  ?"  he  asked. 

Ellerton  frowned  but  not  angrily;  a  half-smile 
drew  up  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  His  position  was 
a  peculiar  one.  When  every  one  else  had  fled  he 
had  gone  single-handed  to  his  company's  main  prop 
erty,  recruited  a  handful  of  workers  from  the  thou 
sands  who  had  been  turned  off  and  proceeded  to  hold 
the  fort.  He  did  not  attempt  to  operate,  but  it  was 
his  ambition  to  retain  unbroken  possession,  keep  the 
pumps  going  and  the  water  down,  prevent  destruc- 

224 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

tion  by  rust  and  neglect  and  above  all  justify  him 
self  in  his  own  eyes.  Four  separate  times  he  had 
been  ordered  home  by  his  superiors  but  in  vain ;  he 
paid  no  heed. 

They  were  men  who  counted  money  in  millions 
and  whose>  properties  were  estimated  by  their  in 
trinsic  "lives" ;  it  made  little  difference  to  them  when 
a  mine  with  thirty  years  of  productiveness  in  sight 
did  its  living  so  long  as  the  basic  value  remained 
inalienable.  They  were  in-  no  sense  slave-drivers 
and  the  measure  of  their  intelligence  was  the  ex 
traordinary  importance  they  attached  to  keeping 
Ellerton  alive  and  out  of  harm's  way.  They  cabled 
to  him,  they  wrote  to  him  and  finally  cut  off  his  pay. 

He  said  nothing,  continued  to  send  in  stereotyped 
monthly  reports  and  also  to  draw  checks  and  drafts 
the  proceeds  of  which  were  duly  accounted  for,  in 
cluding  the  item  of  his  usual  salary.  In  desperation 
the  company  at  last  dishonoured  his  paper.  That 
action  threw  him  into  a  towering  rage  for  it  struck 
at  the  most  vulnerable  point  in  his  excessive  pride. 
(Who  could  know  but  he  that  in  a  time  when  one  fac 
tion  after  another  and  finally  the  de  facto  govern 
ment  were  issuing  banknotes  at  such  a  rate  that  one 
went  to  market  with  a  bushel  basketful  of  them  for 
225 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  day's  purchases,  a  slip  of  paper  with  the  signa 
ture  of  Ellerton  on  it  was  known  and  treated  as 
gold  throughout  a  wide  countryside  and  even  at 
tained  the  distinction  of  a  name?  Such  a  scrap  of 
paper  was  called  a  "Roxano" ;  men  swore  by  it  as 
by  the  Rock  of  Ages. 

Filled  with  wrath  and  thoughts  of  what  a  horse 
whip  could  do  to  a  Boston  board  meeting  he  made 
his  preparation  for  a  flying  trip,  but  before  he  could 
reach  the  Capital,  necessarily  its  first  stage,  his  blood 
had  cooled  and  his  brain  cleared ;  he  realized  that  he 
had  been  about  to  abandon  the  sole  strength  of  his 
position,  the  mingled  elements  of  distance  and  pos 
session.  By  virtue  of  the  local  laws  and  his  extraor 
dinary  isolation  he  was  a  king  in  his  own  right ;  he 
went  through  the  formality  of  mortgaging  a  hun 
dred  million  dollars'  worth  of  property  and  arranged 
to  have  his  checks  honoured  locally. 

Everybody  knew  about  this  friendly  duel  and 
many  were  the  speculations  as  to  Ellerton' s  motives ; 
one  of  them  came  near  the  truth.  Twenty  years  be 
fore  Mary  Digby  had  called  him  a  nice,  lovable 
gambler.  She  should  have  omitted  the  adjectives. 
Ellerton  had  not  the  itch  which  makes  a  man  sit  up 
all  night  risking  sums  he  can  ill  afford  with  trem- 

226 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

bling  fingers  but  he  ha'd  the  iron  nerve  which  will 
play  a  long  shot  while  the  heavens  fall.  He  was 
capable  of  defying  a  tremendously  powerful  com 
pany  and  fate  combined  in  the  knowledge  that  should 
he  succeed  he  would  be  a  made  man,  his  rebellion 
forgotten,  wiped  out  by  praise,  congratulations  and 
advancement. 

But  deep  within  him  there  existed  another  con 
sideration  which  few  if  any  defined,  least  of  all 
himself.  He  was  possessed  by  an  all-consuming 
flame  of  independence,  a  heritage  of  freedom,  a  will 
that  would  not  bend  to  oppression,  a  fundamental, 
essential  belief  in  right  and  justice  as  rewards  to  the 
fearless  and  upstanding  and  of  "No  surrender!" 
as  the  very  breath  of  life  without  which  it  could  not 
advantage  the  heart  to  beat. 

On  a  subsequent  visit  to  town  shortly  after  the 
United  States  had  entered  the  World  War,  he 
talked  to  Digby  of  the  tremendous  responsibility  he 
had  shouldered.  "Dick,"  he  said,  "for  three  months 
now  I've  been  drawing  my  pay  against  orders.  If 
I  pull  through,  it's  all  right ;  we'll  be  on  velvet.  But 
if  I  don't,  remember  if  you  ever  get  on  your  feet 
that  it's  a  debt  against  the  Pico  mine." 

"For  God's  sake,   Rox,"   said  Digby,  "drop  it. 
227 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Pull  out.    Go  home  and  take  Laura  and  the  babies 
with  you.    Play  safe  just  this  once.    Please!" 

Ellerton's  face  took  on  a  look  of  strange  abstrac 
tion.  "Dick,"  he  said,  "I'll  tell  you  the  truth;  I 
can't.  I  don't  know  exactly  why  but  perhaps  you'll 
understand  when  I  say  it's  something  in  me  that's 
first  cousin  to  what  made  you  borrow  the  money  to 
send  Junior  home  the  day  we  entered  the  war.  Tell 
me  about  that,  Dick." 

Digby's  eyes  filled  suddenly  with  unshed  tears; 
he  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  he  said,  "It 
was  this  way,  Rox.  I  was  out  at  the  hospital  read 
ing  to  Mary;  Madeleine  was  there  too.  She's  pale 
and  thin  now  and  her  eyes  are  so  big  you  look  at 
them  and  forget  she's  a  girl  and  see  a  world  of  suf 
fering  women.  Junior  came  rushing  in  with  the 
news;  he  just  gulped  it  out  in  one  breath,  flushed 
cheeks  and  blazing  eyes ;  then  he  really  saw  his  poor 
mother  and  Madeleine  and  my  shabby  clothes.  He 
sat  down,  dropped  his  head  in  his  arms  and  burst  out 
crying.'* 

"Poor  youngster!"  murmured  Ellerton.  "How 
did  you  handle  him  ?" 

"You  know  how  we've  been  in  this  country,"  con 
tinued  Digby,  "since  that  Tampico  affair  when  a 

228 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

German  commander  pushed  his  way  through  the 
mob  and  rescued  our  women  and  children;  we've 
gone  by  the  heart  here  and  not  by  what  we've  heard 
of  what  went  on  five  thousand  miles  away.  Well,  I 
didn't  know  then  that  every  man  of  us  was  going  to 
follow  the  boy's  lead  and  turn  right  face  about,  for 
everything  each  one  of  us  had  to  give ;  so  I  felt  proud 
of  him,  Rox,  as  proud  as  if  an  angel  had  sung  to 
me,  'Unto  you  a  Child  is  born.'  I  told  him  to  stand 
up,  and  when  he  didn't  I  asked  him  if  he  was  crying 
because  he  was  afraid  to  go !" 

A  smile  dawned  on  Digby's  face  that  for  the  mo 
ment  wiped  all  trouble  from  its  deep  lines.  "I  wish 
you  could  have  been  there,"  he  went  on.  "The  boy 
jumped  up  and  turned  on  me  with  eyes  blazing  and 
both  fists  clenched;  he  forgot  all  about  his  mother 
and  shouted,  'You  take  that  back/  and  I  did  and 
then  he  marched  up  and  down  and  told  us  why  he 
wanted  to  go,  a  dozen  reasons,  each  a  clincher  in 
itself,  but  at  the  bottom  of  all  of  them  was  this  little 
speech,  'Dad,  I  want  to  fight.  You  thought  I  was 
a  baby  for  blubbering,  but  I  was  crying  because  I'm 
so  glad,  so  glad,  Dad,  that  there's  something  that 
Americans  won't  stand  for.  You  think  I'm  nothing 
but  a  kid,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  every  time  I've 

229 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

heard  of  one  more  of  us  murdered  in  this  country,  a 
man,  a  whole  man  way  back  that  I  never  knew  about, 
has  died  inside  of  me  for  shame.  I  want  to  fight 
any  one,  anywhere,  to  save  something  that  was  leak 
ing  out  of  me  so  fast  that  I  couldn't  look  any  one  in 
the  face.' " 

Ellerton  blew  his  nose  violently.  "Heaven  for 
give  me,  Dick,  but  I  want  to  cry,  too.  The  indom 
itable  spirit,  the  divine  Hair,  the  knowledge  that  the 
flesh  passes  while  right  lives  are  things  we  don't 
learn;  they  are  sucked  in  with  mother's  milk.  And 
Mary;  what  did  she  do?" 

"I  gave  her  pad  and  pencil ;  she's  learned  to  print 
with  her  left  hand.  She  held  the  pencil  for  so  long 
that  we  thought  she  didn't  want  to  use  it,  but  when 
I  started  to  take  it  away  she  clung  to  it.  We  waited 
a  long  while,  Rox,  then  at  last  she  wrote  just  five 
words,  'My  boy,  I  love  you.' ' 

t)igby's  lips  trembled  and  his  eyes  filled  again 
with  moisture.  "So  he  flopped  down  on  his  knees," 
he  continued,  ^'crumpled  up  with  his  head  in  her  thin 
lap  and  cried  as  though  his  heart  would  break.  If 
she  had  been  well  and  strong  she  would  have  smiled, 
and  if  she  had  smiled  he  wouldn't  have  cried;  not  a 
tear.  I'm  glad  that  the  boy  cried." 

230 


"My  son,  I  am  troubled  for  I  have  looked  in  the  eyes 
of  a  miserable  man  and  beheld  a  great  light.'' 

"How  could  so  small  an  orb  shine  so  far;  for  thy 
sight  is  old  and  rheumy/' 

"I  would  cuff  thine  ears  were  I  not  troubled  by  the 
thought  of  Faith." 


CHAPTER  IX 

ELLERTON  might  have  won  out  in  the  stiff 
game  he  was  playing  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  courage  that  was  in  him,  mad  daring  linked  to 
an  unbridled  tongue.  For  months  he  had  held  off 
the  bandits  in  his  neighbourhood  by  a  rough  friend 
ship,  jeering  at  their  threats  and  jocularly  assuring 
them  that  he  swallowed  a  stick  of  dynamite  every 
morning,  took  a  purge  every  night  and  was  con 
sequently  prepared  at  all  times  to  blow  up  any  one 
who  touched  him.  He  knew  these  people,  their  love 
of  a  coarse  joke,  their  instinctive  sense  of  fellow 
ship  with  any  one  who  deliberately  came  down  to 
the  low  level  on  which  they  were  at  home.  "Ai! 
El  Rojo!"  they  would  cry,  making  a  play  of  his 
given  name,  and  smile.  He  was  a  landmark,  not 
so  much  a  Gringo  as  a  local  institution  in  which  they 
took  pride. 

Upon  his  return  from  the  Capital  after  his  heart 
to  heart  talk  with  Digby,  however,  he  noticed  a 
marked  change  in  the  atmosphere.  A  deputation  of 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

men  he  had  never  before  seen  from  the  bandit  camps 
called  on  him  and  met  his  laughing  denials  with  a 
stony  surliness  coupled  with  such  muttered  insults 
as  no  man  can  forgive  or  forget  Immediately 
Ellerton  was  on  the  alert;  the  lines  of  his  mouth 
hardened,  his  eyes  gleamed  wickedly,  but  he  did  his 
best  to  suppress  these  outward  signs  of  inner  com 
motion.  Something  had  happened ;  something  he  had 
missed.  He  sparred  for  time  and  finally  persuaded 
the  blackmailers  to  give  him  three  days,  ostensibly  to 
get  the  money  demanded  but  in  reality  to  enable  him 
to  tap  his  extensive  underground  system  of  in 
formation. 

In  twenty-four  hours  he  had  the  truth,  the  whole 
vile  story.  It  brought  to  his  very  door  conditions 
which  were  said  to  exist  throughout  the  vast  por 
tion  of  the  Republic  under  the  control  of  the  estab 
lished  government  but  to  which  he  had  attached  no 
more  than  cursory  interest  until  they  struck  at  the 
foundations  of  his  individual  immunity.  Para 
doxical  as  it  may  seem  to  the  ignorant  of  facts  and 
to  the  unbelieving,  Ellerton  was  in  a  fix  because  the 
local  bandit  leader  had  applied  to  the  local  govern 
ment  commander  for  amnesty;  he  wished  to  sur- 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

render;    his   men   desired   to    return    to   peaceful 
pursuits. 

In  a  towering  rage,  Ellerton  rode  the  few  miles 
to  the  government  barracks  and  demanded  an  inter 
view  with  the  commander.  He  found  a  small  man, 
swarthy,  square-chinned,  badly  educated  and  badly 
bred,  but  whose  wide-open  eyes  presented  an  almost 
visible  presentment  of  a  single  carefully  cultured  and 
intelligent  hatred  of  the  Gringo  in  general,  Ellerton 
in  particular. 

The  significance  of  racial  detestation  as  an  ele 
ment  in  the  life  of  a  nation  can  not  be  overestimated ; 
it  is  almost  invariably  the  corollary  of  decadence,  at 
the  same  time  it  represents  such  false  strength  as 
comes  to  a  madman  in  convulsions,  to  an  inebriate 
in  delirium  tremens  and  to  a  corpse  in  rigour  mortis. 
In  the  case  of  the  race  with  which  Ellerton  was  deal 
ing  it  stands  alone  and  unsupported  as  the  answer 
to  the  question  so  often  asked,  Why  should  an  ex 
ecutive  who  was  placed  in  the  seat  of  government 
by  the  moral  force,  consciously  and  honestly  di 
rected,  of  a  neighbouring  people  never  miss  an  op 
portunity,  to  spit  on  the  friendly  hand  that  had  aided 
him? 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Contrary  to  popular  conviction,  it  was  not  because 
of  any  factor  of  dislike  or  suspicion  in  his  personal 
make-up,  although  these  naturally  carried  minor 
weight,  but  because  he  was  forced  to  the  policy, 
borne  as  irresistibly  as  a  carefully  guided  canoe 
down  a  cataract.  He  was  no  soldier  but  a  civilian, 
by  training  a  farmer  and  rancher  in  a  small  way. 
During  the  first  few  months  of  his  administration 
he  balanced  like  an  acrobat  over  a  military  quick 
sand;  within  a  year  he  was  the  apex  of  a  military 
pyramid  built  painstakingly  as  of  blocks  of  granite. 

How  was  the  miracle  performed?  By  shrewd 
manipulation  of  the  element  of  race  hatred  supported 
by  subornation  of  military  commanders,  nominally 
under  him,  virtually  his  pitiless  masters,  on  a  scale 
never  before  equaled  by  any  keystone  of  a  corrupt 
oligarchy.  Frequent  and  overt  insults  to  a  friendly 
power  which  could  at  any  time  crush  him  with  the 
parings  from  its  finger-nails  built  the  congenital 
hatred  of  the  military  factions  into  a  single  edifice ; 
special  privileges  and  vast  sums  from  the  enormous 
revenue  of  the  wondrously  productive  country 
poured  in  a  liquid  flood  into  the  pockets  of  exalted 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KINGS  HORSES 

military  officials  formed  the  cement  which  welded 
the  blocks  together. 

The  intrinsic  fallacies  of  this  superficially  suc 
cessful  opportunist  policy  were  twofold:  one  was 
the  impossibility  of  continuing  to  fill  the  rapacious 
maw  of  the  military  machine ;  the  other  was  the  fact 
that  the  very  life  of  the  ruling  organization  depended 
on  an  unbroken  continuance  of  outlawry  through 
out  the  land.  Prophets  of  disaster  to  a  nation 
through  any  specified  departure  meet  a  thankless 
fate;  they  die  before  they  can  say  "I  told  you  so." 
The  task  of  the  observer  taking  notes  is  simpler,  but 
even  with  this  concession  an  ounce  of  illustration 
is  worth  a  pound  of  exposition.  Ellerton,  face  to 
face  with  a  live,  active  exponent  of  the  system, 
linked  effect  to  cause  with  a  tragic  illumination  that 
should  give  sight  to  the  blind. 

"Commandante,"  began  Rox,  without  introduc 
tion  or  hypocritical  hand-shaking  preliminaries,  "al 
though  you  were  sent  here  to  pacify  this  neck  of 
woods,  you  have  refused  to  accept  the  surrender  of 
Jefe  Miguel  and  his  band." 

"It's  a  dirty  lie,"  remarked  the  commander  pen 
sively,  rolling  a  cigarette. 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Well,  if  it's  a  lie,  you're  going  to  hear  some  more 
like  it  before  you  throw  me  out,"  replied  Ellerton 
quickly,  "and  if  you  don't  listen  to  me  I'm  going 
to  the  Capital  and  publish  the  facts  if  I  have  to  buy 
a  newspaper  and  be  railroaded  out  of  the  country 
the  next  day.  Just  hear  a  little  bit  of  your  own  his 
tory.  To  get  command  of  this  district  which  is 
considered  a  'fat'  one  you  offered  one  hundred  pesos 
monthly  to  a  high  official ;  he  stood  out  for  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  and  you  finally  agreed.  It  sounds 
like  a  small  sum  for  a  man  of  such  rank  but  he 
gets  it  from  two  hundred  and  thirty-eight  other  men 
of  your  rating  and  ilk;  a  tidy  income  for  any  one 
in  a  half-starved  country." 

The  commandante  smiled. 

"On  the  other  hand,"  continued  Ellerton,  "a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  pesos  a  month  tribute  from  a 
petty  officer  whose  pay  is  just  that,  sounds  like 
a  lot  of  money.  How  can  you  do  it?  Because 
you  have  sixty  troopers  in  the  flesh  with  you  and  a 
hundred  and  twenty  on  your  pay-roll.  Add  to  that 
your  billeting  and  forage  perquisites  in  a  rich  bit 
of  country  and  we  begin  to  see  daylight.  All  that's 
none  of  my  business  but  when  you  refuse  to  accept 

237 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  automatic  pacification  of  this  district  and  tell 
Miguel  he's  got  to  bleed  me  or  you'll  have  him  mur 
dered  and  see  that  he's  replaced  by  a  cdbecilla  who 
knows  his  business,  why  that's  a  horse  of  another 
colour,  damn  you." 

"It's  a  lie,"  commented  the  commander  calmly. 

"Well,  if  it's  a  lie,"  replied  Ellerton,  "I'll  know 
it  inside  of  forty-eight  hours.  If  Miguel's  cut 
throats  show  up  I'll  know  it's  a  lie,  but  God  help  you 
if  they  do.  I've  written  a  letter  to  my  people  in  the 
City,  telling  the  whole  dirty  tale  and  you'll  get 
what's  coming  to  you  in  the  long  run,  you  sucking 
bed-bug." 

The  commander  rose  to  his  feet  livid  with  rage 
and  shouted  for  an  orderly.  As  the  door  swung 
open,  Ellerton  spoke  his  smiling  thanks  for  the  at 
tention,  stepped  out,  leaped  to  his  horse  and  was  off, 
very  much  satisfied  with  what  he  considered  had 
been  a  highly  diplomatic  and  clever  interview.  At 
the  exact  termination  of  the  three  days  of  grace, 
Ellerton's  bluff  was  called.  Armed  horsemen  ap 
peared  at  the  mine  headquarters  as  though  they  had 
sprung  from  the  ground.  They  came  from  every 
direction  in  groups  of  three  and  four,  so  that  there 

238 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

was  no  way  of  telling  when  the  last  of  them  would 
arrive. 

Ellerton,  however,  was  too  old  a  hand  to  attempt 
resistance  or  even  arm  himself.  He  came  striding 
out  hatless  into  the  sun-baked  court  before  the  small 
house  he  was  occupying.  He  wore  no  coat  and  his 
soft  shirt  was  open  at  the  collar,  exposing  the  tense 
tendons  of  his  neck  and  the  strong  but  agitated  beat 
of  his  pulse ;  his  sleeves  were  rolled  up.  In  his  set 
face  there  was  none  of  his  old-time  jeering;  his  lips 
were  drawn  to  a  white  line,  his  black  eyes  flashed, 
his  crisp  hair  swept  back  from  his  brow  in  a  bel 
ligerent  crest. 

"Well  ?"  he  demanded,  his  eyes  sweeping  the  dense 
group  of  men  before  him  and  hesitating  for  one 
vindictive  instant  as  they  recognized  in  the  back 
ground  and  no  longer  in  uniform  the  orderly  who 
had  been  called  to  show  him  from  the  commandante's 
office  two  days  before,  "what  do  you  want?" 

"Ten  thousand  dollares,"  said  the  spokesman  ap 
parently  self-appointed. 

"Go  to  hell,"  said  Ellerton,  and  turned  to  enter 
the  house  as  though  the  interview  were  over.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  no  clear  plan  of 

239 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

action,  no  policy  of  deportment.  Deserted  by  the 
exposure  of  his  long  bluffing  of  a  lone  weak  hand 
against  all  the  aces  of  destiny,  he  became  suddenly 
confused,  desperate  and  angry.  Nothing  was  left 
to  him  but  a  stubborn,  suicidal  defiance. 

They  fell  upon  him  in  a  body,  struck  him  with 
the  barrels  of  cocked  carbines,  beat  him  with  stones 
held  in  puny  fists,  overwhelmed  him,  crushed  him  to 
the  hard  earth,  grated  the  flesh  from  the  side  of  his 
face,  kicked  him  in  the  stomach  and  between  the  legs 
until  he  succumbed  and  went  suddenly  flaccid  in 
their  hands;  then  they  picked  him  up,  carried  him 
into  the  house  and  threw  him  into  the  swivel  chain 
before  his  desk. 

"Write,"  said  the  orderly. 

"Write  what?"  demanded  Ellerton  with  a  last 
flare  of  resistance. 

"Whatever  you  like,"  replied  the  orderly,  grin 
ning  evilly.  "Write  the  letter  you  lied  about,  that 
you  said  you  had  sent.  Tell  your  people  what  has 
happened  to  you  and  the  things  you  said  to  the 
co  mmandante !" 

"Do  you  mean  that  ?"  asked  Ellerton,  unbelieving. 

"It  is  your  privilege,"  replied  the  orderly,  still 
240 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

grinning1.    "We  will  see  that  they  get  it,  all  of  it.    It 
will  be  diverting." 

During  half  an  hour,  aching  in  every  bone  of  his 
body,  his  head  feeling  as  if  it  would  burst  with  the 
successive  rushes  of  blood  which  rose  to  it  as  his 
rage  returned,  Ellerton  laboriously  wrote  the  un- 
garnished  truth.  They  did  not  hurry  him;  they 
were  secure  from  interruption.  When  he  had  fin 
ished,  one  of  his  retainers  all  of  whom  had  scattered 
like  fowls  from  the  shadow  of  a  hawk,  was  dragged 
into  the  room  to  receive  instructions  in  his  presence. 
They  were  concise. 

"Bring  back  proof  within  three  days  that  you 
have  delivered  this  letter  to  the  person  to  whom  it 
is  addressed  or  you  know  what  will  happen  to  your 
mother,  your  wife  and  your  sister." 

The  man  reached  out  a  trembling  hand.  "It  is 
done,"  he  said.  "Only  give  me  a  mule  or  I  can 
never  make  it." 

He  had  a  friend  among  the  bandits  who  granted 
the  concession;  but  as  he  was  about  to  leave  they 
stopped  him  after  murmured  consultation.  Almost 
before  Ellerton  could  surmise  their  purpose  his 
arm  was  seized  at  the  wrist,  his  hand  laid  forcibly 

241 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

3at  on  the  desk  and  his  little  finger  containing  a 
signet  ring  was  flicked  off  with  a  blow  from  a  foul 
axe.  The  ring  slipped  off  and  rolled  rattling  into 
a  corner;  they  picked  it  up,  slipped  it  on  the  black 
ening  finger  and  tied  it  there  with  a  bit  of  string. 

"Take  this  with  you,"  said  the  orderly  to  the  ter 
rified  messenger.  "They  will  understand  the  letter 
better." 

Ellerton  never  stared  more  wonderingly  than  he 
did  at  his  mutilated  hand,  no  longer  under  restraint 
but  lying  quiescent  on  the  desk  before  him,  merely 
throbbing  to  the  spaced  bursts  of  escaping  blood. 
His  eyes  left  it  only  to  seize  upon  the  missing  finger 
which  was  being  handled  so  nonchalantly  by  filthier 
counterparts  than  it  had  ever  deigned  to  grasp  in 
life.  Could  that  miserable  fast-blackening  worm  of 
flesh  ever  have  been  part  of  him,  of  his  pulsing, 
aching,  living  body?  Was  it  credible  that  it  had 
ever  caressed  the  smooth  pale  cheeks  of  Laura  or 
tickled  the  ribs  of  his  crooning  fragrant  babies? 

"No!"  he  cried,  threw  back  his  head  and  roared 
with  laughter. 

They  took  him  out,  strapped  him  to  a  mule  and 
led  him  away  into  the  hills. 

It  was  only  a  question  of  two  days  before  cable, 
242 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

telegraph  and  telephone,  between  countries,  cities 
and  houses,  were  busy  in  a  frantic  attempt  to  move 
a  great  power,  a  Goliath  among  nations,  toward  the 
salvation  of  one  of  its  insignificant  citizens ;  but  there 
are  times  when  power  is  a  negation,  when  it  is  noth 
ing,  less  than  nothing,  when  the  strength  of  a  people 
however  vast  is  anchored  as  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar, 
and  when  the  actions  of  men  are  as  puerile,  as  insig 
nificant,  as  tragically  ludicrous  and  aimless  as  the 
movement  of  frightened,  minutely  important  ants 
busily  crawling  up  and  down  a  mountainside. 

Officials  are  not  so  hard-hearted  as  the  public 
has  reason  to  suppose ;  they  are  subject  to  the  same 
impulses  of  wrath,  pity  and  impotence  as  the  man 
in  the  street  but  their  innermost  souls  are  branded 
with  a  truth, — the  truth  that  policies  once  estab 
lished  seldom  bend  to  the  impact  of  any  one  event 
however  outrageous.  The  Department  would  act, 
did  act  at  once  with  all  the  good  will  in  the  world. 
It  sent  a  forceful  cablegram.  So  far  its  activity  had 
been  human,  touched  with  the  quality  of  mercy,  but 
with  the  hurried  despatch  of  the  message  the  flush 
of  animation  as  from  flesh  and  blood  possessed  of 
a  beating  heart,  immediately  evanesced.  Why? 
Because  from  the  moment  of  starting  on  its  pil- 

243 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

grimage  the  message  became  one  of  a  dozen  more 
like  it,  part  of  an  international  file,  of  a  dossier,  of 
a  docket  held  against  a  necessarily;  postponed  judg 
ment,  one  of  a  thousand  claims  to  be  justly  decided 
in  their  own  day,  perhaps  before  the  courts  of  a 
future   generation.      A   single   lie   has   sometimes 
plunged  peoples  into  war  but  no  orderly,  systematic, 
loose-leaf  file  of  truths  ever  stopped  a  tennis  match. 
[Who  was  to  blame?     An  executive  held  in  the 
inexorable  grip  of  a  decision  not  originally  of  his 
inception  and  whose  very  essence  was  a  fulfillment 
through  the  shibboleth  of  the  healing  powers  of 
time?  Or  was  it  the  clerk  who  docketed  the  memo 
randum  to  the  Foreign  Office,  filed  its  reply;  dock 
eted  a  further  memorandum,  filed  a  reply  to  that  and 
quite  justifiably  went  out  to  play  tennis?    Neither. 
If  censure  there  be,  it  lies  at  the  door  of  a  peculiar 
torpidity  of  moral  consciousness  which  is  possessed 
only  by  clean-minded  peoples  who  are  incapable  of 
conception  of  an  oncoming  avalanche  of  immorality 
until  they  awake  to  find  themselves  stained  with  the 
eternal  shame  of  murder  by  default. 

In   the  meantime  Ellerton's   friends  were  busy; 
Digby  it  is  true  had  vanished  after  one  look  at  the 

244 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

letter  and  the  gruesome  talisman  which  accompanied 
it  and  no  one  knew,  .where  he  had  gone,  but  Renbow, 
the  head  of  Ellerton's  City  office,  aided  by  many 
others,  was  pulling  every  hidden  wire  known  to 
local  consummations.  The  climax  of  his  efforts  was 
reached  in  an  interview  with  one  of  the  well-known 
flock  of  intermediaries  whom  those  in  the  know 
made  use  of  to  approach  with  backsheesh  all  officials 
'from  the  majority  of  cabinet  officers  down  to  any 
inspector  of  pulque  or  collector  of  excise. 

The  intermediary  listened  to  the  whole  case  at 
tentively  and  realizing  the  importance  of  selling  only 
wares  which  he  could  deliver,  replied  at  once  that 
nothing  could  be  done.  The  look  of  bewildered  in 
credulity  on  Renbow's  face  moved  him  to  pity.  He 
explained. 

"You  think  you  are  demanding  a  little  thing, 
!don't  you?"  he  asked.  "Such  a  favour  as  has  often 
been  'arranged'  for  a  trifling  few  thousand  dollars. 
But  you're  not,  amigo;  you're  asking  for  the  over 
throw  of  the  government  yours  recognized  only 
three  days  ago." 

He  spoke  with  a  peculiar  twitch  to  his  lips  as 
though  they  would  laugh  in  spite  of  himself  at  the 

245 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 
f 

sardonic  humour  of  one  presumably  powerful  chief, 
helpless  before  the  unmerciful  goad  of  policy,  hail 
ing  another  presumably  powerful  chief,  insultingly 
unreceptive,  as  "My  Great  and  Good  Friend," 
across  a  heap  of  the  unavenged  murdered  bodies  of 
his  countrymen  and  the  ruins  of  twenty  years  of 
industry. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Renbow  more  be 
wildered  than  ever. 

"I  mean,"  explained  the  intermediary,  frowning, 
"that  the  executive  can't  go  back  on  the  minister  in 
question  and  he  in  turn  can't  go  back  on  the  cotn- 
mandante    who  is  only  one  of  hundreds,    a  single 
mesh  in  a  great  net;  but  the  tearing  of  that  mesh 
would  unravel  the  whole  fabric  of  present  govern 
ment  control.    If  this  thing  were  not  true  and  known 
to  every  apparently  insignificant  command  ante,  why 
should  this  one  have  cynically  allowed  that  letter  to 
come  through?    Power!     Why,  any  officer  in  any 
kind  of  standing  with  the  army  has  more  power  in 
his  little  toe  than  the  President  in  his  right  hand, 
upheld  by  all  the  laws  and  a  family  of  constitutions. 
You  know  that." 

Renbow  bowed  before  the  unanswerable  logic ;  for 
246 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  first  time  and  in  spite  of  the  original  denial  of 
an  outlet,  he  began  to  realize  the  hopelessness  of  his 
mission. 

The  go-between  continued  musingly,  "It's  a  funny 
business.  Our  Old  Man  says  he  hates  the  Gringoes 
because  they  supply  the  rebels,  as  he  calls  them,  with 
arms  and  ammunition.  That  may  be  true  of  the  bor 
der, — border  people  breathe  contraband,  always 
have  and  always  will, — but  we  all  know  that  at  least 
ninety  percent  of  the  arms  and  ammunition  in  ban 
dit  hands  is  sold  to  them  by  government  troops  and 
officers.  They  sometimes  have  to  take  them  against 
their  will." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Renbow. 
"It's  the  same  thing  I've  been  telling  you  in  other 
words,"  replied  the  intermediary  patiently,  "and 
your  case  is  absolutely  in  point.  The  military  can't 
afford  to  pacify  the  country,  the  ministers  can't 
afford  to  pacify  the  military  and  the  executive  can't 
afford  to  pacify  the  cabinet  because  what  strength 
the  entire  fabric  of  this  government  has  is  based  on 
protected  rapine." 

"How  can  you  say  a  thing  like  that?"  demanded 
247 

•"*»• 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Renbow  curiously.     "It's  true;    but  how  can  you 
say  it?" 

The  go-between's  lips  drew  back  slowly  until  they 
showed  a  gleam  of  smiling  teeth.  "Why  shouldn't 
I  say  it?"  he  asked  pleasantly.  "We  have  estab 
lished  the  age  of  cynicism;  we  can  say  anything  in 
the  world  we  like.  Protected  rapine ;  protected  from 
abroad.  Since  we  came  into  power  we  have  mur 
dered  unpunished  the  subjects  of  half  a  dozen  coun 
tries;  your  particular  average  is  two  a  month. 
Amiga,  you  have  assured  us  so  often  that  you  won't 
hit  us  whatever  we  do  that  you  can't  do  it  now 
without  looking  like  fools  before  the  whole  world. 
Why  shouldn't  I  talk?" 

Renbow  flushed  angrily  but  said  nothing;  after 
a  pause  his  informant  continued,  "There's  some 
thing  else  you  haven't  thought  of,"  he  said,  "in 
asking  your  little  favour.  Quite  incidentally  the 
official  in  question  would  destroy  a  wonderful  in 
come,  damage  his  own  pocket  to  the  tune  of  many 
thousand  dollars  gold  a  month.  How  can  you 
counter-bribe  a  man  in  such  a  position?" 

"Many  thousands  a  month !"  murmured  Renbow 
unbelievingly. 

"Oh,  quite,"  replied  the  intermediary,  and  smiled. 
248 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  he  added,  his  brows 
gathering  to  a  look  of  concentration  on  the  matter 
in  hand.  "I'll  do  my  best  to  get  you  a  concession  of 
immunity  from  the  government  to  pay  the  ransom." 

"You  mean  we  need  permission  to  pay  the  money 
when  we  get  it?"  cried  Renbow. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  man,  once  more  smiling,  "a 
permit  to  'trade  with  the  enemy.'  You  can  under 
stand  that,  can't  you  ?" 

Before  this  strange  interview  drew  to  a  close, 
Digby  was  well  on  his  way  up-country.  The  light 
and  cunning  which  are  commonly  associated  only 
with  madmen  were  in  his  somber  eyes  and  seemed 
to  clear  the  way  for  him  as  by  some  mysterious  pro 
jected  power.  He  moved  not  automatically  but 
with  that  deliberate  panther-like  swiftness  which 
had  brought  him  to  his  feet  in  a  single  gesture  of 
his  whole  body  on  the  day  when  Junior  had  called 
him  to  meet  the  individual  swarm  of  nation-wide 
locusts  whose  lot  it  was  to  devour  Mountain  Acre, 
quiet  green  spot  of  many  memories. 

Arrived  at  mine  headquarters  and  after  meticu 
lous,  abnormally  reasoned  searching,  he  finally  un 
earthed  a  miserable  frightened  scullery-maid  whose 
fear  had  robbed  her  of  the  power  of  flight  and  had 

249 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

led  her  to  crawl  into  a  rain-hole  beneath  the  founda 
tions  of  the  mill.  For  a  time  she  could  not  speak  but 
at  last  became  sufficiently  rational  to  point  out  to  him 
the  trail  by  which  she  knew  the  cavalcade  to  have 
gone.  Gaining  confidence  from  their  solitude  and 
Digby's  determined  manner  concentrated  with  ter 
rifying  intensity  on  a  single  purpose,  she  reacted  to 
the  ..erery-day  impulses  of  pitying  womanhood  and 
whispered  to  him  the  name  of  the  hamlet  in  the 
hills  where  he  would  doubtless  find  "Don  Rojo." 

It  was  already  the  afternoon  of  the  fifth  day  since 
Ellerton's  capture  and  although  possessed  by  no  pre 
monition  of  a  fatal  outcome,  empty-handed  and 
without  sane  plan  for  his  friend's  deliverance,  Digby 
pushed  on  swiftly  and  with  a  directness  that  denied 
the  very  existence  of  doubt  in  connection  with  his 
mission.  Coming  upon  a  man  riding  alone,  heavily 
armed  but  drowsy  under  the  warm  sun,  he  seized 
him  by. the  leg  and  lifted  him  from  the  saddle,  not 
roughly  but  with  a  deliberation  that  would  not  be 
denied.  "I  need  your  horse,"  he  explained  with 
grim  calm,  "I'm  going  to  your  headquarters." 

The  man  stared  at  the  tall  lank  figure,  at  the  mad 
glow  in  the  somber  eyes  and  withheld  the  hand 
which  was  moving  toward  his  holster.  There  was 

250 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

something  so  elemental  in  Digby  at  that  hour,  so 
intimately  allied  to  primal  forces  such  as  fire,  flood 
and  pestilence  that  the  man  stood  with  jaw  and  eyes 
wide  open,  all  muscles  of  volition  neutralized.  It 
was  as  though  to  his  own  stupefaction  he  himself, 
his  entity,  had  become  a  thing  of  no  account,  a 
minutely  conscious  crawling  sin  in  the  suddenly  il 
lumined  path  of  a  righteousness  secure  above  the 
puny  acts  of  any  mortal.  He  watched  Digby  flog 
the  horse  into  a  gallop.  He  let  him  go  and  finally 
smiled  for  he  knew  the  pony  would  willingly  follow 
his  nose  straight  to  stable. 

When  he  came  within  sight  of  the  hamlet  crop 
ping  out  of  the  gray  loam  of  the  hills  like  some  dis 
eased  excrescence  of  the  surrounding  rocks,  Digby 
slowed  his  mount  to  a  walk,  finally  got  off,  dropped 
the  bridle  and  strode  silently  into  the  very  midst  of  a 
lounging  group  which  showed  no  astonishment  even 
when  he  spoke;  his  coming  had  been  too  swift,  too 
wholly  unexpected  and  unexplainable  to  cause  im 
mediate  reaction. 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  Digby,  his  shoulders 
erect,  his  head  upflung. 

As  with  him  whose  horse  he  had  commandeered, 
so  with  these;  they  stared  at  him,  became  abashed 

251 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

not  before  his  helpless  body  but  before  that  subtle 
protection  from  on  high  with  which  all  ignorant 
peoples  endow  the  mad.  They  looked  at  one  another 
questioningly  and  finally  one  of  the  group  slunk 
away,  returning  presently  with  a  squat  individual 
of  leonine  brows  and  a  piercing  eye  which  measured 
Digby  by  no  superstitious  standards  and  found  in 
him  a  man. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  he  asked. 

"Where  have  you  put  him?"  demanded  Digby 
with  an  intensity  that  seemed  to  reduce  all  per 
sonalities,  all  hatreds,  to  the  dead  level  of  a  single 
human  intention. 

The  cabecilla  looked  at  him  shrewdly,  question 
ingly,  yet  when  he  asked  his  question  aloud  it  was 
a  mere  formality ;  he  had  already  sensed  the  answer. 
"Have  you  brought  the  money  ?" 

"Money?"  repeated  Digby.  His  brows  gathered 
as  though  the  sound  of  that  word  awakened  in  him 
troubled  thoughts  but  only  of  a  distant  depression. 
"What  money?" 

The  two  men  stared  at  each  other  fixedly  and  into 
their  silence  crept  a  groan,  "Dick,  is  that  you?" 

Digby  whirled  and  strode  through  the  open  door 
252 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

of  the  nearest  of  the  adobe  hovels;  the  cabecilla 
raised  his  eyebrows,  shrugged  his  squat  shoulders, 
turned  and  walked  away. 

Ellerton  was  lying  on  his  back  on  a  miserable, 
filthy  stretcher  propped  on  two  rough  hurdles.  At 
his  side  hr.d  been  placed  an  empty  whisky  case  upon 
which  rested  a  hideous  bolster-like  roll  of  flesh.  It 
was  his  arm.  It  seemed  a  thing  detached  from  his 
body  and  from  the  soul  that  flamed  in  his  dark  eyes 
to  welcome  Digby's  coming.  "Dick,"  he  murmured 
contentedly,  "old  friend." 

A  spasm  of  commiseration  controlled  only  by  a 
mighty  effort  of  the  will  threatened  to  shake  Digby's 
frame  into  a  crumpled,  sobbing,  futile  mass.  Open 
ing  and  closing  his  fingers  in  an  effort  to  dominate 
his  emotion,  he  stood  for  a  long  moment  looking  not 
at  Rox  but  at  the  crumbling  mud  wall  at  the  level 
of  his  eyes.  He  did  not  drop  them  until  he  too 
could  smile.  He  got  out  his  knife  and  with  that 
tenderness  of  a  strong  man  which  exceeds  the  gen 
tleness  of  women  gradually  cut  away  the  shirt-sleeve 
which  had  formed  a  stricture  just  beneath  the  shoul 
der.  As  the  last  binding  strand  gave  way  Ellerton 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  which  was  stifled  before  it 

253 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

was  half  spent  by  an  agonizing  stab  of  a  new  kind 
of  pain. 

"Mustn't  sigh,"  he  murmured. 

Digby  continued  his  work  until  he  had  laid  arm 
and  shoulder  quite  bare.  He  merely  glanced  at  the 
truncated  hand,  comprehended  the  green  evil  which 
had  settled  there  and  gave  all  his  attention  to  dis 
covering  how  far  the  infection  had  spread.  Very 
gently,  very  tenderly,  he  moved  the  bolster-like  arm 
until  he  could  touch  the  glands  under  the  armpit; 
they  were  like  hen's  eggs.  Through  the  pink  red 
ness  of  the  flesh,  up  to  the  shoulder,  past  the  shoul 
der,  traveled  and  radiated  the  pale,  white,  tell-tale 
lines  of  the  infected  nerves.  The  greatest  surgeon 
on  earth  were  he  present  could  not  save  Rox  Eller- 
ton's  life. 

"I  see  that  you  see,  Dick,"  he  whispered. 
"Spreading  gangrene,  mortification,  tetanus  soon, 
perhaps." 

Digby  did  not  answer;  he  went  to  the  door  and 
hailed  a  passing  woman.  "Bring  me  some  hot 
water/'  he  ordered. 

She  stared  at  him  and  glanced  inquiringly  at  the 
lounging  men  in  sight ;  none  of  them  paid  the  slight- 

254 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

est  attention.  "Bueno,"  she  muttered,  turned  back 
to  her  hovel  and  presently  appeared  with  a  shallow 
clay  casuela  half  full  of  greasy  hot  water.  Digby 
looked  at  it  hopelessly,  dipped  his  handkerchief  and 
started  to  bathe  the  festered  stump  of  the  missing 
finger. 

"Cut  it  out,  old  fellow,"  said  Ellerton  presently. 
"What's  the  use  ?  Get  something  to  sit  on ;  I  want 
to  talk  to  you.  That's  the  curse  of  this  special 
brand  of  death;  the  brain  lives." 

Digby  did  as  he  was  bidden.  He  found  another 
box,  placed  it  beside  the  stretcher,  sat  down  and 
began  to  wring  out  his  handkerchief. 

"Don't  do  that,"  cried  Ellerton  sharply.  "Throw 
it  away.  Burn  it.  No,  don't  burn  it.  Who  knows 
but  what  it  might  do  good  yet?  Leave  it  around 
somewhere;  a  firstborn  may  pick  it  up  to  wrap  a 
cut  finger." 

"That's  not  like  you,  Rox,"  said  Digby  quietly, 
and  smiling  to  make  the  reproof  still  milder. 

"Not  like  me,"  repeated  Ellerton  thoughtfully. 
"What  is  'me,'  Dick?  I  remember  Rox  Ellerton,  a 
clean  upstanding  fellow  who  played  an  open  game, 
never  cheated,  never  asked  quarter,  who  loved  sweet 

255 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

things  and  worked  for  them, — things  like — like 
Laura — like  her  babies — " 

His  eyes  stared  unseeingly  beyond  the  walls  of 
the  squalid  room,  seizing  and  holding  a  distant  vi 
sion  desperately  as  though  he  strove  to  take  it  with 
him  on  his  long  journey.  Presently  he  closed  them 
tight  and  as  if  by  that  action  he  had  locked  his  treas 
ure  away,  opened  them  again  and  looked  steadily  at 
Digby. 

"Will  you  make  a  pillow  of  your  coat  for  me, 
Dick?" 

"It  isn't  good  for  you,"  murmured  Digby,  as  he 
complied. 

"There  you  go  again,"  said  Ellerton.  "Not  good 
for  me.  What  is  'me'  ?  I  used  to  think  of  myself 
as  a  man,  but  this  carrion,  this  polluted  offal — " 

"Rox!"  interrupted  Digby. 

They  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence;  then  Ellerton 
spoke  again  but  a  peculiar  change  had  come  to  his 
voice,  a  resonance,  a  power  that  made  it  seem  a 
thing  apart  from  his  sinking  body.  "I  saw  it  in  the 
paper  they  showed  me  yesterday,"  he  said.  "The 
letter.  It  began  with  that  damned  hypocritical 
phrase  of  traditional  international  benediction,  'My 

256 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Great  and  Good  Friend/  Dick,  you  have  the  even 
mind.  Tell  me,  was  it  necessary?  Did  they  have 
to  recognize?  Across  so  many  festering  wounds! 
So  many  blasted  ambitions  for  a  common  right  to 
live !  So  many  rusting  ruins  of  properties  that  did 
good,  not  evil,  never  evil  in  this  land  flowing  with 
milk  and  honey  and — and — blood,  forever  ringing 
•with  the  cry  of  the  starving!  Not  an  industry  to 
day,  not  one,  that  isn't  run  by  a  foreigner  at  the 
self-chosen  peril  of  his  own  life!" 

"That  isn't  absolutely  true,  Rox,"  said  Digby 
pleadingly.  "There's  one  shoe  factory." 

"So  there  is,"  agreed  Ellerton,  with  a  sardonic 
gleam  in  his  eyes.  "One — one  shoe  factory !" 

"We  don't  know  everything,  Rox,"  said  Digby, 
reservedly  reverting  to  Ellerton's  great  question  of 
necessity  for  recognition.  "Of  course,  it  must  have 
seemed  best.  People  in  power  have  a  burden  we 
never  measure.  Perhaps  it's  because  we're  too  close. 
They  have  the  burden  of  the  counted  cost." 

"The  counted  cost,"  repeated  Ellerton.  "Nobody 
ever  taught  me  about  that.  Where  does  it  come  in, 
Dick?  Somewhere  in  the  over-head  charges ?"  He 
smiled  pathetically  at  his  joke  with  God. 

257 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

As  though  brought  on  by  that  slight  effort  a 
spasm  contorted  his  body  and  face  in  a  convulsion  of 
excruciating  pain.  "How  does  this  end?"  he  gasped 
when  the  climax  had  passed. 

Sweat  stood  out  in  glistening  globules  on  Digby's 
forehead  as  though  hi's  mental  agony  kept  pace  with 
the  bodily  suffering  of  his  friend.  "When  the  in 
fection  reaches  the  spinal  cord,"  he  replied. 

"Excursionists,"  murmured  Ellerton  after  a  long 
silence.  "I  see  that  our  chambers  of  commerce  are 
sending  down  big  parties.  A  pilot  train  ahead  and 
an  armoured  car  behind;  guiding  them  along  the 
only  safe  bit  of  railway  in  a  big  system.  I  suppose 
you'd  call  those  week-end  trippers  fellow-country 
men,  wouldn't  you,  Dick?" 

"Yes,  Rox,"  replied  Digby  heavily. 

"I  wonder  if  they  know,"  continued  Ellerton, 
"that  to  do  business  they'll  have  to  shake  the  hands 
of  fratricides,  people  who  devour  their  own.  I  ad 
mire  in  a  way  a  hatred  toward  foreigners;  but — 
These  people,  Dick.  I  wonder  if  the  tourists  know 
that  when  our  country  in  its  policy  of  showering 
coals  of  fire  released  fifty  odd  million  pounds  of 
wheat  flour  to  relieve  the  starving  here,  another  high 
official  took  his  price  for  slapping  on  a  duty.  And 

258 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

they  telegraphed  on  the  open  wires,  using  his  initial, 
to  the  millers  around  to  know  if  they'd  stand  their 
share!" 

"Stop  thinking  about  those  things,  Rox,"  said 
Digby. 

"Stop  thinking!"  repeated  Ellerton.  "I  wish  I 
could  laugh,  old  Even-mind,  but  I  don't  dare;  it 
hurts  above  pain.  Shake  their  hands.  If  they  could 
only  come  up  here  and  shake  mine  and  take  a  rotting 
death  back  to  those  they  love !" 

"Rox!"  cried  Digby. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Ellerton.  "We  residents 
abroad  have  been  accused  of  being  privateers,  Dick, 
but  nobody  ever  dreamed  of  saying  we  would  con 
done  murder,  robbery  and  rape  for  the  sake  of  a  few 
easy  dollars!  We  worked,  God  how  we  worked! 
and  it  was  good  work,  well  done.  Perdicaris!"  he 
murmured.  "Perdicaris !" 

"What's  that,  old  man?"  asked  Digby,  leaning 
forward. 

"Perdicaris!"  repeated  Ellerton  more  clearly. 
"Have  you  forgotten,  Dick?  Perdicaris  was  a 
young  Greek  studying  at  Harvard  who  filled  in  his 
extra  time  by  taking  out  papers  as  an  American 
citizen.  He  went  away,  never  paid  a  tax,  never 

259 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

voted,  but  twenty  years  later  a  chap  named  Raisuli 
snatched  him  out  of  his  winter  residence  at  Tangier 
and  carried  him  into  the  hills." 

A  strange  light  dawned  in  Digby's  eyes,  a  light  of 
puzzled  awakening,  as  though  he  found  himself  face 
to  face  with  a  great  fact  astoundingly  obliterated 
not  by  the  passage  of  long  years  but  by  a  national 
reversal  of  fundamental  ideals.  "I — I  remember, 
Rox,"  he  stammered,  and  felt  a  red  flush  rising  to 
his  cheeks. 

"You   remember!"   whispered  Ellerton.      "Who 
else  remembers  ?    Will  they  teach  it  in  our  schools  ? 
What  did  our  country  do,  Dick?     How  are  they 
going  to  tell  our  children,  yours  and  mine,   that, 
story  of  only  fifteen  years  ago?    We  sent  seventy- 
five  thousand  dollars  and  paid  it  to  Raisuli  at  the 
drop  of  the  hat;  we  sent  not  one  ship  but  a  fleet, — > 
do  you  get  that? — a  fleet  under  Admiral  French 
Ensor  Chadwick.     We  didn't  kill   anybody.     We 
didn't  have  to.    If  that  was  shame,  if  that  was  the 
'big  stick,'  if  that  was  interference  in  the  internal 
affairs  of  a  weak  sister  country,  God  give  me  dis 
grace,  a  club  and  the  name  of  bully  for  my  portion.'* 
"You   are   wrong   on   the   details,    Rox,"    said 
Digby,  "but  the  main  facts  stand." 

260 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Privateers!"  continued  Ellerton,  unheeding. 
"What  about  the  thousands  of  us,  who  have  been 
driven  away  from  bread  and  butter  by  a  swarm  of 
harpies  croaking  in  the  deserted  seat  of  government? 
What  about  the  little  fellows,  the  ranchers,  the  indus 
trials,  the  clerks,  who  went  down  and  out  for  the  full 
count  and  couldn't  shout  loud  enough  for  their  home 
counties  to  hear?  Do  they  smell  of  oil,  poor  bank 
rupt  devils?  Not  naturalized  Greeks  but  native 
sons!  Privateers!  What  a  high-sounding  name! 
Why  call  us  that  ?  Why  not  brand  us  once  and  for 
all  as  the  discarded  refuse  of  the  new  nationalism 
which  has  made  the  name  of  American  an  evil  stench 
in  all  the  western  hemisphere !" 

"Oh,  Rox,"  begged  Digby,  "please  don't.  It  can't 
last,  old  man,  it  can't." 

"That's  what  we've  been  saying  for  eight  years," 
muttered  Ellerton,  "eight  eternal  years  that  no 
added  blood  can  ever  wipe  out.  But,  Dick,  believe 
me,  I'd  rather  be  this  vile  and  stinking  thing,  dis 
carded,  forgotten,  despised  and  incidentally  betrayed 
by  my  nation  than  to  live  another  lifetime  under 
the  stain  of  a  pacifism  which  in  the  name  of  peace 
when  there  is  no  peace  has  smothered  millions 

261 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

into  bondage,  driven  thousands  to  starvation  and 
drowned  the  memory  of  justice,  honour,  mercy,  in 
a  sea  of  blood. 

"Rox,"  begged  Digby,  "please  stop  thinking  of 
these  things," 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Ellerton.  "You 
mean  I  haven't  long  now.  But  Dick,  old  friend,  just 
remember  that  you've  been  listening  to  things  which 
all  of  us  know  but  which  hypocrisy  can't  say;  to  the 
tongue  of  death  that  never  lies.  As  for  me,  some 
thing  passes  more  than  this  transitory  body  that  I 
tried  so  hard  to  keep  clean,  like  a  sword,  and  which 
is  so  vile  now,  so  far  on  the  road  to  rust  and  putre 
faction.  Something  else  passes ;  something  else  dies. 
The  faith  of  a  once-great  country." 

"Rox!"  cried  Digby  in  the  sonorous  voice  of  a 
sudden  great  strength,  "you  have  kept  the  faith. 
If  ever  man  did,  you  have.  I  tell  you  here  and  now, 
when  we  two  are  hidden  away  from  the  world  and 
down  to  bedrock,  that  you  are  like  a  light  to  a  lost 
souL  The  faith  of  any  country  dies  only  with  the 
last  true  man." 

A  faint  happy  smile  such  as  one  sees  on  the  faces 
of  children  after  desperate  illness  came  to  Eller- 

262 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ton's  lips  as  though  all  pain  and  death  itself  had 
become  a  small  price  to  pay  for  just  a  few  words 
stripped  of  the  cruel  reserves  of  every-day  contacts 
to  a  rare  and  stark  sincerity.  He  lay  silent  for  some 
time;  then  his  body  was  seized  with  violent  contrac 
tions  that  wrenched  it  this  way  and  that;  tendons 
swelled  and  stiffened,  locking  his  limbs  in  grotesque 
positions ;  the  bolster-like  arm,  dragged  from  immo 
bility,  thrashed  around  sluggishly  like  some  hideous 
fish  in  shallow  water ;  his  abdomen  became  distended 
and  hard  as  corrugated  iron;  only  his  lungs  still 
lived. 

"Oh,  God,"  he  muttered,  "and  you  too,  Dick,  hear 
tny  curse  on  these  people.  Throw  my  body  in  the 
open.  Don't  bury  it.  Let  it  rot  and  stink  so  that  it 
may  feel  at  home  in  this  poisoned  air !" 

His  face  cleared  to  a  sudden  illumination  which 

Divided  it  from  all  that  had  gone  before.     "There 

was    a    kingdom    in    my    breast,"    he    whispered. 

"Laura's  kingdom.    It's  rotting  away, — Rpx  Eller- 

ton  has  rotted  away — >" 


"My  son,  thoit  hast  spoken  truth;  my  sight  is  old  and 
rheumy.    Look  down  and  tell  me  what  thou  seest." 

"Oh,  Father!     A   sight   to  make   the  gods  laugh. 
Wisdom  kicking  her  heels  free  of  a  man's  body." 


CHAPTER  X 

UNAIDED  Digby  buried  Ellerton's  body  be 
hind  the  hovel  in  which  he  died.  The  work 
completed  he  replaced  the  hoe  which  he  had  taken 
from  a  near-by  quinta  and  afterward  walked  un 
hindered  from  the  bandit  stronghold.  It  never 
occurred  to  him  to  wonder  whether  some  order  had 
gone  out  from  the  squat,  keen-eyed  cabecilla  that 
he  was  not  to  be  molested ;  he  never  gave  the  matter 
a  thought  because  the  Digby  returning  from  Eller- 
ton's  bedside  had  lost  physical  consciousness  to  a 
degree  seldom  vouchsafed  to  man  short  of  the 
moment  of  death. 

On  his  way  into  the  hills  he  had  been  so  abnor 
mally  absorbed  in  a  single  fixed  purpose  that  for  the 
time  being  he  not  only  enjoyed  but  actually  pos 
sessed  such  faculties  and  immunities  as  attend  a 
monomaniac;  now  not  a  vestige  of  that  estate  re 
mained  yet  he  felt  no  less  secure  from  outer  influ 
ence,  no  less  imbued  with  a  confidence  quite  apart 
from  courage  or  kindred  positive  qualities,  no  less 

265 


NOT  ALt;  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

reserved  to  certain  definite  ends.  He  was  scarcely 
aware  of  what  was  happening  to  him;  he  certainly 
could  not  have  defined  it  as  the  first  step  toward  an 
ultimate  division  between  mind  and  body,  if  for  no 
other  reason  than  that  introspection  was  one  of  the 
faculties  which  had  been  drained  from  his  compo 
sition. 

He  was  on  the  way  to  becoming  a  mind,  an  entity 
devoid  of  emotions,  indifferent  to  action  as  allied  to 
a  subordinated  body,  holding  legs,  ,arms,  hands  and 
even  individual  fingers  to  an  absolute  subserviency 
which  can  be  attained  only  by  completely  ignoring 
them.  To  an  indescribable  extent  he  was  freed 
from  the  obscuring  sensations  of  physical  pain,  of 
hunger  and  thirst,  heat  or  cold,  and  by  the  same 
evolution  became  inordinantly  exposed  to  all  such 
impressions  as  were  purely  mental  and  divorced 
from  the  objective  impulses  of  fear,  regret,  hope, 
censure  or  palliation. 

Such  phenomena  of  the  disembodiment  of  the 
spirit  are  not  uncommon  to  men  at  the  point  of  death 
or  who  face  what  appears  to  be  inevitable  destruc 
tion.  Digby  himself  had  known  more  than  one  such 
moment.  As  mine  superintendent  he  had  once  beer) 

266 


called  upon  to  examine  the  wall  of  an  abandoned 
airshaft  for  outcroppings  of  a  newly-found  vein  of 
paying  ore.  The  time  was  one  of  acute  distrust  be 
tween  men  and  their  masters  but  he  had  taken  with 
him  on  that  occasion  a  foreman  in  whom  he  had 
every  reason  to  repose  confidence. 

At  the  head  of  the  airshaft  which  began  at  the 
third  level  of  the  mine  and  dropped  six  hundred  feet 
to  a  caved-in  station  there  lay  a  large  coil  of  manilla 
rope.  Digby  picked  up  its  loose  end,  tested  it,  found 
•  it  in  excellent  condition,  looped  and  tied  it  into  a 
sling  and  prepared  to  go  over  the  edge. 

"You're  sure  you  and  the  two  men  can  hold  me, 
Mike  ?"  he  asked. 

"As  sure  as  sure,"  replied  the  foreman. 

"Pay  it  out  slow,"  he  had  instructed,  "and  when 
I  holler,  stop." 

He  had  descended  over  a  hundred  feet  at  a  crawl 
ing  rate  when  he  noticed  an  acceleration  in  the  pace 
of  the  rope  so  even  yet  increasing  so  terrifyingly 
that  he  realized  he  was  lost  though  the  rope  could 
not  have  broken.  He  shouted  loud  and  desperately 
to  the  men  above  to  stop  and  in  instantaneous,  al 
most  simultaneous  answer,  came  Mike's  hoarse  cry, 

267 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"God  help  you !"  Then  he  was  falling  and  knew  it, 
falling  five  hundred  feet  to  a  rock  bottom.  From 
the  instant  of  that  realization  until  he  found  him 
self  hanging  doubled  across  a  beam  which  had  in 
some  far-gone  day  slipped  into  the  shaft  and 
jammed,  not  a  second  of  time  elapsed  yet  it  had 
been  a  sufficient  interval  for  him  to  think  of  so  many 
things  that  their  review  later  when  he  was  lying  in 
bed  with  two  ribs  and  an  arm  broken  consumed 
hours. 

His  shout  had  been  an  objective  impulse  but 
every  thought  that  followed  it  had  been  of  calcula 
tion,  of  clear  seeing,  of  review ;  he  had  become  dis 
embodied  before  death.  So  vivid  was  his  recollec 
tion  of  having  ascribed  his  fall  to  treachery  that  he 
sent  for  the  foreman  to  apologize  after  learning  the 
simple  explanation  of  the  accident  The  top  coils 
of  the  rope  had  been  dry  but  once  they  had  been 
paid  out  the  men  had  found  themselves  clutching 
with  futile  fingers  a  slithering,  slimy  substance  which 
raced  ever  faster  through  their  desperate  grip. 

This  incident  will  serve  as  well  as  another  to 
illustrate  by  approximation  the  condition  of  mind  in 
which  Digby  returned  to  the  City ;  a  condition  which 
did  not  partake  of  the  element  of  instantaneous 

268 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

summary  of  years  into  the  fraction  of  a  second,  but 
which  in  all  other  respects  was  closely  allied  to  the 
calm  estate  of  a  man  who  has  suddenly  abandoned 
life  as  a  door  to  further  mysteries  and  casts  an  eye 
cleared  of  mundane  obscurities  back  along-  the  trav 
eled  way,  his  consciousness  alert  to  all  considerations 
save  those  of  the  flesh  and  the  body's  well-being. 

It  is  probable  that  could  he  have  returned  to  a. 
possibility  of  happiness;  to  Mary,  his  wife,  strong 
and  companionable,  to  Laura  unbereaved,  to  Junior 
out  of  danger  and  to  Madeleine  awakened  from  her 
long  stupour  into  the  elf  of  old,  eyes  flashing,  cheeks 
aglow  and  feet  uneasy  for  youth's  heritage  of  joy,. 
he  might  have  come  back  in  time  to  that  dual  entity 
the  pain  of  which  alone  binds  man  to  earth.  But 
such  was  not  his  destiny ;  the  current  of  misfortune 
upon  which  he  was  borne  had  gathered  from  too- 
distant  a  source  to  veer  on  the  rock  of  a  foundered 
hope.  His  intimate  division  might  grow  wider, 
more  absolute, — it  could  never  heal ;  the  flesh  of  him 
had  not  yet  lost  all  power  to  suffer,  added  blows 
could  drive  it  into  deeper  obliteration  but  no  pos 
sible  factor  could  make  it  emerge. 

At  the  station  he  intercepted  Renbow  on  the  way 
to  deliver  the  ransom  and  told  his  story  in  so  matter- 

269 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

of-fact  a  tone  and  so  succinctly  that  his  listener  was 
robbed  of  the  chance  of  a  spoken  question  even  while 
his  eyes,  traveling  up  and  down  Digby's  lank  form 
but  ever  returning  to  his  passionless  face,  puzzled 
silently  over  an  elusive  strangeness  in  one  who  had 
always  seemed  the  most  readable  of  men,  a  differ 
ence  too  indefinable  to  lend  itself  to  catechism  but 
which  set  him  definitely  apart  from  familiarity. 

They  returned  to  the  City  together  and  Renbow 
twice  went  over  every  phase  of  his  interview  with 
the  go-between;  once  for  Digby's  information  and 
then  in  a  soliloquy  of  detached,  explosive  phrases, 
spoken  aloud  but  for  his  own  ears  alone  as  though 
the  impassive  silence  of  his  companion  drove  him  to 
build  around  himself  a  barrier  of  words  lest  he  too 
be  swept  away  from  the  every-day  touch  of  things 
and  dragged  into  a  peril  he  sensed  but  could  not 
define,  a  danger  of  company  without  companionship 
in  a  realm  robbed  of  frailty  but  destitute  of  warmth. 

Strange  to  say  upon  arrival  in  the  City,  Digby's 
first  thought  was  not  of  Laura,  but  of  Madeleine. 
For  months  he  and  Madeleine  had  been  living  alone 
in  a  miserable  flat  sparsely  furnished  and  situated 
half-way  between  the  hospital  and  Laura's  small 

270 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

quarters.  The  two  restricted  households  had  made 
more  than  one  attempt  to  join  forces  but  owing  to 
the  fact  that  the  surrounding  country  had  been  un 
safe  during  so  many  years,  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  persecuted  families  had  crowded  into  the  Capital 
and  filled  its  accommodations  to  the  bursting  point. 
Rents  were  high;  there  were  no  vacancies. 

Under  these  conditions,  Madeleine  had  been  liv 
ing  a  life  which  in  every  coarse  detail  was  a  negation 
of  the  atmosphere  in  which  she  had  been  bred.  She 
kept  house  for  her  father,  prepared  skimpy  meals 
of  what  was  cheapest  in  the  local  market,  she  swept 
and  dusted  the  little  apartment  with  repulsion  at 
every  piece  of  ugly  furniture  she  touched,  she  went 
to  the  business  school  and  worked  doggedly  at  mas 
tering  the  science  of  taking  down  other  people's 
words,  an  employment  which  she  detested  even  in 
anticipation. 

The  Digbys  were  not  aristocrats  in  any  sense 
beyond  that  of  the  habit  of  clean-living;  they  had  no 
claims  to  illustrious  or  attenuated  lineage  and  had 
none  of  the  weaknesses  nor  the  strength  of  a  tradi 
tion  having  its  roots  in  bygone  ages  and  bearing 
with  a  peculiar  pinch- faced  stubbornness  the  bitter 

271 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

fruits  of  adversity.  They  were  plain,  average  Amer 
icans,  interchangeable  with  any  one  of  a  million 
well-educated  families,  but  they  had  assimilated  to 
.a  remarkable  degree  that  ready  and  charming  broad 
ening  of  the  little  interests  and  views  of  life  which 
comes  quickly  to  all  Anglo-Saxons  who  live  abroad 
and  gives  them  a  culture  far  above  their  original 
station,  a  finish  not  deeply  founded  but  most  pleas 
ing  in  casual  contact. 

By  the  standards  of  accepted  fiction  Madeleine 
should  have  been  a  ray  of  light  shining  in  her  uni 
versal  darkness,  a  comfort  to  her  father,  a  solace  to 
her  invalid  mother  and  a  bright  visitant  at  Laura's 
home.  But  unfortunately  the  record  of  human 
nature  does  not  show  a  preponderance  of  paragons 
shining  through  the  dampening  fog  of  benumbing 
poverty ;  the  young  commonly  have  only  the  stamina 
of  youth  and  anything  which  suddenly  drains  that 
precious  reservoir  is  apt  to  leave  them  sadly  exposed 
to  the  desiccating  glare  of  the  sun  that  shines  piti 
lessly  only  on  nakedness. 

Madeleine  was  no  quitter  and  no  cry-baby;  she 
attended  to  every  duty  thrust  upon  her  by  fate  with 
a  conscientiousness  and  patience  which  only  served 
to  wring  the  heart  the  more  when  one  saw  her  sit- 

272 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ting  by  the  window,  tired  out  by  the  day's  work: 
only  because  it  carried  with  it  no  elixir  of  hope, 
drooping  like  an  unwatered  flower,  her  eyes  gone 
dead  with  monotonous  despair.  She  was  of  those 
women  who  are  capable  of  impulses  of  drastic  no 
bility,  who  can  cast  all  to  the  winds  for  love,  give 
all  their  blood  in  a  single  transfusion,  cut  them 
selves  off  from  fortune  in  one  clean  sweep  and  there 
after  die,  but  whose  natures  know  nothing  of  the 
steady  surrender  of  self  in  little  morsels  nipped 
daily  from  the  body  through  years  of  patient  self- 
denial. 

When  misfortune  overtook  her  people  she  had 
barely  passed  beyond  the  hoydenish  age  which 
might  have  laughed  at  worn  shoes,  cotton  stockings, 
patently  remade  dresses,  turned  them  into  a  joke  and 
brought  her  out  triumphant  even  though  a  little 
brazen  from  the  shadow  which  had  fallen  on  her 
spirit.  Unfortunately  she  had  been  caught  by  disas 
ter  in  that  breathless  year  of  adolescence  when  a  girl 
loves  clothes  not  with  any  figurative  affection  but 
with  outright  physical  adoration,  that  time  of  prettily- 
sinful  preoccupation  when  soft  silks  held  in  rivalry 
against  a  softer  cheek  produce  sensations  far  more: 
acute  than  the  kiss  of  a  mere  man. 

273 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

rA.s  Digby  walked  toward  his  abode  he  was  not 
thinking  of  Laura  because  his  new-found  power  of 
clear-seeing  had  seized  upon  certain  incidents  of  his 
life  with  Madeleine  which  at  the  time  of  their  oc 
currence  had  been  too  blurred  emotionally  to  show  a 
true  perspective  but  which  stood  out  now  with 
marked  significance.  One  such  scene  had  puzzled 
him,  left  him  vaguely  troubled  and  in  fear  of  a  re 
currence  which  had  never  come.  Now  he  knew  why 
it  had  never  been  repeated;  because  he  had  been 
blind,  because  love  had  failed  in  its  first  duty  of 
understanding. 

It  had  happened  on  a  rainy  evening,  cold  and 
(lamp  in  the  unheated  little  flat.  He  and  Madeleine 
were  sitting  in  silence  in  the  front  room;  they  had 
finished  very  early  their  frugal  dinner,  he  had  helped 
her  with  the  dishes  and  reproved  her  mildly  for 
dropping  the  drying-cloth  with  a  shudder  of  disgust 
into  the  waste-bucket  as  she  finished  wiping  the  last 
plate. 

"Maddie,  darling,  we  can't  throw  that  away;  it's 
the  only  one  we've  got." 

"That's  why,"  said  Madeleine,  in  a  low  voice. 
274 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

"Never.  I'll  never  touch  that  cloth  again.  How 
soggy!  No;  let  the  dishes  dry  themselves;  they'll 
feel  better." 

Then  he  had  followed  her  into  the  front  room, 
sat  down  with  her  in  silence,  stared  at  her  ques- 
tioningly.  Presently  she  arose,  went  to  the  hall  door 
and  bolted  it,  ran  into  her  room  and  after  a  long 
interval  slipped  out  into  the  half-light  of  the  fast- 
dying  day  and  startled  him  with  the  impression  of  a 
ghost  at  large,  she  came  toward  him  so  silently,  so 
white. 

Her  loosened  hair,  brushed  clean  of  the  day's 
sordid  contacts,  hung  in  a  dark  cloud  about  her 
shoulders ;  out  of  its  shadows  peered  her  face,  lovely, 
hungry,  rubbed  to  spots  of  adorable  colour;  her  lips 
were  parted  to  little  anxious  breaths  and  in  her  eyes 
was  an  unforgetable  look  of  liquid,  heartrending 
wistfulness.  She  wore  nothing  but  a  sheer  white 
chemise  de  nuit  of  finest  nainsook,  a  lone  Christmas 
present  sent  by  post  by  an  old  schoolmate.  It  was 
maidenly  modest  in  its  full  length  and  relieved  at  the 
high  round  yoke  with  inserted  hand-made  lace.  The 
tiny  sleeves  coming  just  three  inches  over  her  shoul- 

275 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

<ders  were  of  lace  too;  they  left  her  long  thin  arms 
quite  bare.  She  wore  no  slippers  on  her  naked  feet. 

"Madeleine!"  cried  her  father,  "you'll  catch  your 
death!" 

With  frightened  eyes  and  trembling  lips  she  ran 
the  last  few  steps  toward  him,  threw  herself  into  his 
arms,  climbed  into  his  lap,  curled  up,  locked  her 
hands  about  his  neck,  buried  her  face  against  his 
breast  and  began  to  quiver  to  the  rending  shock  of 
one  long  sob  after  another.  Her  body  smelled  of 
coarse  unscented  soap ;  it  was  not  warm  and  yield 
ing  but  rigid  and  cold;  its  tremours  were  not  of 
flesh  surrendered  but  of  flesh  as  the  hard  casket  of 
the  straining  soul. 

Digby  drew  her  close  to  his  throbbing  heart.  "Oh, 
Madeleine,"  he  said  with  uneven  voice,  "you  are 
cold,  so  cold." 

"It  isn't  cold!"  sobbed  Madeleine. 

"Why,  dear,  you're  shivering  with  a  chill;  let 
Daddy  carry  you  in  to  bed/' 

"No,  it  isn't  a  chill.     Never  in  to  bed,  never!" 

And  then  the  tense  resistance  of  the  virginal  body 
to  any  surrender  broke  down  utterly.  Relaxed  and 
limp  she  sagged  against  him,  burrowed  in  against 

276 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

his  heart,  became  fluid  as  the  scalding  tears  that 
poured  in  a  sudden  torrent  down  her  cheeks.  Her 
limbs  grew  warm,  overwhelmed  him  with  a  sensa 
tion  of  drowning  in  a  tepid  sea.  He  gasped  as  he 
clung  to  her,  rocked  her  to  and  fro  and  caught  his 
mind  whirling  away  to  that  day  of  her  babyhood 
when  staring  at  Humpty  Dumpty,  splashed  and  in 
ruins,  she  had  screamed,  "Not  Maddie!"  and  he  had 
sworn,  "No,  not  Madeleine!  Never  Madeleine,  so 
help  me  God !" 

Wherein  had  he  failed?  In  vision.  He  knew  it 
now  as  he  looked  back  on  that  puzzling  evening  when 
he  had  held  in  his  arms  his  baby,  child  of  the  inner 
most  fibres  of  his  heart  grown  to  womanhood, 
through  half  the  hours  of  a  long  night  and  then,  still 
frowning  in  bewilderment,  carried  her  sleeping  yet 
whimpering  to  bed,  drawn  back  the  covers  and  laid 
her  between  the  coarse  damp  sheets  with  a  sudden 
revulsion  that  so  cold  and  cheerless  a  nest  should 
receive  her  breathing  loveliness  into  its  clammy 
embrace. 

Given  the  cue  of  that  instinctive  revolt,  how  could 
he  have  been  so  blind?  He  saw  it  clearly  enough 
now.  Madeleine  was  being  driven  desperate  by  the 

277 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ugliness  of  her  most  intimate  surroundings,  by  the 
coarseness  of  her  clothes,  her  food,  her  occupations, 
by  the  very  clamminess  he  had  so  resented  in  the 
sheets  into  which  he  had  thrust  her  when  she  had 
come  to  him  in  the  one  sweet  garment  of  all  her 
possession  to  sob  out  her  rebellious  inarticulate  pro 
test  against  the  demeaning  sordidness  of  barely  liv 
ing  only  to  live.  She  had  not  even  the  solace  of 
companionship  in  misery,  for  youth  seldom  counts 
the  sufferings  of  its  elders  as  of  the  nature  of  its 
own  pain  and  the  very  few  young  people  whom  she 
knew  had  long  since  been  swept  out  of  the  country 
by  succeeding  emigrations. 

As  Digby  strode  along  he  tried  in  vain  to  think 
of  little  things  which  he  might  deny  himself  to  give 
her  at  least  one  pair  of  silk  stockings,  one  dainty 
frock,  one  change  of  dish-cloths,  one  day  in  the  week 
when  she  might  draw  a  long  happy  breath  and  smile ; 
but  he  more  than  any  other  of  his  immediate  circle 
was  living  along  the  very  bedrock  of  hand-to-mouth 
existence.  He  had  long  since  abandoned  even  the 
cheapest  of  cigarettes ;  he  still  smoked  a  single  pipe 
after  each  meal  because  Ellerton  had  passed  on  a 
pound  of  mixture  which  was  not  to  his  taste.  But 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

even  so,  thought  Digby,  he  had  failed  in  not  seizing 
upon  Madeleine's  spirit  and  lifting  it  by  a  deliberate 
effort  of  the  will  toward  cheerfulness.  He  might 
have  woven  such  tales  as  would  have  caught  and 
held  her  safe  in  a  gossamer  web  of  illusion  and 
fancy  but,  alas!  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  Little 
Folk. 

What  was  it  he  had  made  the  rose-janitress  say 
to  himself?  "If  you  don't  want  to  lose  your  chil 
dren  and  if  they  don't  want  to  lose  themselves, 
don't  any  of  you  ever  forget  old  friends,  least  of 
all  the  Little  Folk;  if  you're  afraid  of  the  dark, 
you'd  better  keep  us  handy  for  we  are  the  light  that 
shines  on  yesterday."  He  sighed  deeply  but  his 
lips  drew  to  no  sneer,  no  deprecating  smile  at  the 
memory  of  the  airy  fantasy  with  which  he  had 
striven  so  long  ago  to  bridge  for  his  own  the  little 
chasm  between  childhood  and  youth. 

"I  have  forgotten  the  Little  Folk,"  he  said  to  him 
self  quite  gravely.  "Old  friends." 

He  hurried  up  the  three  flights  of  stairs  to  the 
flat  and  knocked  on  the  door  hoping  that  Made 
leine  would  come  running  to  let  him  in,  but  there 
was  no  answer  and  after  waiting  a  minute  he  took 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

his  keys  from  his  pocket  and  began  to  sort  them. 
How  strange  they  looked  in  the  face  of  his  abject 
poverty !  So  many  keys, — keys  to  store-room,  study, 
stables,  desk,  drawers  and  iron  safe,  keys  to  trunks 
and  bags,  keys  whose  uses  he  could  no  longer  re 
member,  so  many  keys  yet  no  single  thing  left  to 
keep  behind  a  lock. 

He  opened  the  door  and  entered  to  that  musty 
smell  which  habitations  acquire  almost  immediately 
upon  abandonment.  The  air  was  not  impure,  for  a 
window  was  open,  but  it  was  nevertheless  laden  with 
faintly  sour  odours.  He  opened  more  windows  and 
the  few  intervening  doors,  looking  at  the  same  time 
for  indications  of  Madeleine's  recent  presence.  There 
were  none  but  he  was  not  alarmed;  he  had  had  no 
time  to  let  the  girl  know  of  his  sudden  journey  but 
he  was  sure  she  would  have  heard  of  it.  Naturally 
she  had  gone  to  stay  with  Laura. 

Still  rilled  with  thoughts  of  the  night  of  Made 
leine's  sobbing  but  unspoken  protest  against  the  sor- 
didness  of  her /surroundings  and  feeling  even  in  his 
new  role  of  a  mind  more  than  half -fledged  for  inde 
pendent  flight  the  compunction  of  a  dispassionate 
remorse,  he  entered  her  bedroom  and  stared  about 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

him  making  inventory  of  all  its  unclean  nakedness, 
of  its  uncovered  stains  of  former  occupations,  of  its 
cry  for  dainty  coverings,  of  the  ugliness  of  its  few 
sticks  of  inappropriate  furniture.  One  chair  was 
more  eloquent  than  many  tongues;  it  had  two  legs 
and  a  rung  painted  white  by  an  inexpert  hand.  He 
remembered  that  day, — a  day  when  Madeleine  had 
been  given  a  tragically  insufficient  sample  tin  of 
enamel  paint.  His  eyes  fell  upon  the  bed  and  looked 
it  over  with  whole-hearted  disdain;  it  seemed  to 
mark  the  limits  between  endurance  with  dignity  and 
the  insufferable. 

His  gaze  traveled  its  little  length  and  was  finally 
caught  by  a  bit  of  paper  looking  like  a  pale  un 
healthy  butterfly  born  and  bred  in  a  sunless  air 
impaled  upon  the  single  pillow  with  a  pin.  He 
reached  over,  snatched  it  up  and  read  the  few  words 
it  contained.  In  that  moment  he  was  again  all  body, 
subject  and  defenseless  before  the  blow  that  called 
it  once  more  into  full  sensibility  only  to  drive  it 
deeper  than  ever  into  an  ultimate  submergence. 

"Madeleine !"  he  shouted  in  a  full-throated  tear 
ing  cry  that  left  him  trembling  with  sudden  recol 
lection  of  the  screaming  of  mules  caught  in  a  mine 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

fire,  the  most  agonizing  of  inhuman  sounds  known 
to  man. 

He  fell  on  his  knees  beside  the  virginal  cot,  so 
mean,  so  ineffectual,  so  criminally  at  fault  in  that  it 
had  failed  miserably  in  its  mission  of  rest  and  happy 
dreams  to  the  sorely  distressed.  His  arms  outflung 
in  the  relaxation  of  utter  depair,  his  head  buried 
against  the  soggy  dampness  of  the  abhorred  pillow 
and  his  broad  shoulders  writhing,  he  sobbed  not  as 
men  sob  for  love  at  a  woman's  knees  nor  for  grief 
beside  the  dead  but  as  he  alone  weeps  who  measures 
in  a  little  empty  room  beside  a  vacant  bed  the  infinity 
between  the  floor  of  hell  and  the  mercy  seat  of  God. 

An  hour  later  he  was  once  more  that  strange  man 
whom  Renbow  had  failed  to  recognize  completely. 
He  arose,  sought  out  the  few  stale  scraps  there  were 
to  eat  in  the  flat  and  paced  up  and  down  its  limited 
floor-space  waiting  for  he  knew  not  what.  He  was 
not  conscious  that  he  was  waiting.  His  mind  had 
returned  to  its  supremacy  over  a  widened  empire. 
He  was  thinking  of  Madeleine  not  as  his  baby,  his 
adored  above  all  other  flesh  and  blood,  but  as 
woman  the  castaway,  and  of  himself  as  partaker 
in  her  sins  and  penalties.  His  vision  grew  incisive 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

as  the  touch  of  ice  and  presently  he  threw  up  his 
head  to  a  clear  thought  definitive,  rounded  and 
complete. 

"Not  I  alone,"  he  said  aloud.  "Every  man  who 
takes  profit  before  reparation  from  this  accursed 
land  can  look  upon  his  own  wife,  his  sister,  his  own 
child  and  say  for  them  and  for  himself,  'Inasmuch 
as  we  have  not  cared  we  too  are  sinners — outcast, 
shunned  and  despised." 

Digby  did  not  speak  with  rancour;  never  had  he 
felt  himself  less  in  need  of  the  self-application  of  his 
frequent  admonition  to  Ellerton  to  keep  an  even 
mind.  He  was  calm  not  by  an  effort  of  the  will  but 
by  the  draining  of  emotion  from  his  heart.  He  saw 
with  a  dazzling  clearness  a  nation-wide  complicity 
by  apathy  in  his  own  burden  of  shame. 

He  imagined  himself  a  universal  spectre  leaning 
over  the  shoulders  of  all  the  fathers  in  his  native 
land,  reading  papers  at  the  breakfast  table,  noting 
another  murder  of  a  fellow-countryman,  another 
outrage,  placidly  turning  their  thoughts  back  to 
mental  accounts  of  cash  profit  and  loss  or  gazing 
indulgently  at  wives  and  nurtured  children;  he  im 
agined  himself  tapping  them  on  the  shoulders,  lean- 

283 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

ing  over  and  whispering  in  their  ears,  "You,  too; 
your  women,  too.    Look!    The  Scarlet  Letter!" 

Inasmuch  as  they  had  abandoned  an  ancient  tradi 
tion  which  shouted  full-voiced,  "Thou  shalt  not 
kill,"  and  meant  it;  inasmuch  as  they  had  too  will 
ingly  bowed  to  sophistries  of  right  and  might  and 
languidly  questioned  the  ethics  of  staying  the  hand 
of  murder;  most  of  all  because  they  were  ready  in 
flocks  to  step  across  the  unburied  bodies  of  the  una 
venged  and  snatch  profit  by  private  treaty  from  the 
still  bloody  hand  of  the  assassin,  he  found  them 
sharers  in  his  guilt,  their  women  too,  responsible 
for  the  tragedy  of  his  beloved  whom  their  too-soft 
hands  had  pushed  into  the  street. 

He  was  still  pacing  up  and  down,  luminous-eyed 
but  terribly  calm  of  feature,  when  Laura  threw  open 
the  door  of  the  flat,  stepped  in  and  stood  before  him. 
Her  whole  body  was  stricken,  her  head  drooped  like 
a  golden  flower  on  a  wilting  stem ;  she  did  not  speak 
for  a  moment  but  there  was  panic  in  the  agonized 
eyes  she  raised  to  her  father's  impassive  face. 

"It  isn't  true,"  she  whispered  at  last.  "Daddy, 
it  isn't  true!  Rox,  he's  not  dead;  not  quite  dead. 
Not  gone  so  that  I  can  never  see  him  again !" 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Digby  felt  a  sudden  weariness  as  though  her  cry 
were  unanswerable  because  it  was  uttered  in  a  for 
gotten  tongue.  He  stared  at  her  with  an  air  of 
detached  calculation.  He  remembered  vividly  the 
day  when  Rox  had  said  of  her,  "She  is  of  other 
flesh,"  and  neither  he  nor  Mary  had  contradicted. 
As  if  against  this  day  Laura  had  been  born  strong ; 
all  her  frailty, — the  illusive  delicacy  of  her  faintly 
tinted  cheeks,  of  her  lovely  but  slight  shoulders,  of 
her  long  pale  hands, — was  but  her  strength.  She 
was  an  indomitable  spirit  lightly  burdened  with 
flesh.  He  had  always  felt  it,  always  bowed  to  the 
veiled  truth,  but  now  k  stood  out  clearly  to  his  per 
ception.  He  said  nothing ;  only  looked  at  her. 

She  turned  from  his  revealing  gaze,  raised  both 
hands  to  her  throat  in  a  pitiful  restraining  gesture, 
then  threw  her  arms  up  against  the  wall,  buried  her 
face  in  them  and  cried  out  words  that  could  spring 
only  from  such  broad  foundations  as  her  father 
had  just  divined.  "Rox!"  she  sobbed,  "My  boy! 
My  dear  boy!  Always  a  boy!  Forever  a  boy!" 

Digby  fled  from  that  cry  of  an  all-embracing 
motherhood  which  holds  all  the  forlorn  ages  of  man 
as  one.  It  frightened  him,  threatened  to  tear  him 

285 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

from  a  hard-won  liberation  which  once  again  lost 
would  inevitably  reduce  him  to  a  whimpering  mass 
ineffectual  as  he  was  now  non-sentient.  He  went 
out  to  wander  in  the  streets.  He  was  not  con 
sciously  looking  for  Madeleine,  he  had  no  desire  to 
visit  old  haunts,  even  Mary  was  far  from  his 
thoughts. 

It  was  as  though  he  had  begun  a  new  life  which 
was  not  a  life,  as  though  fate  had  thrust  into  his 
hands  a  fresh  departure,  a  power  of  vision  divorced 
from  action.  He  could  see  all  things  with  a  super 
human  clarity  and  the  mere  possession  of  this 
faculty,  so  feebly  but  so  constantly  striven  for 
throughout  long  years  of  what  now  seemed  puerile 
analyzing,  impelled  him  to  give  it  all  the  scope  of 
his  limited  horizon,  apply  it  to  all  the  every-day  evi 
dence  which  crowds  to  the  eyes  of  man,  yet  leaves 
them  blind. 

Even  while  he  studied  every  material  obstacle  to 
sight  he  felt  a  peculiar  impatience  against  each  of 
them;  houses,  walls,  motor-cars  and  the  enclosing 
barrier  of  the  encircling  girdle  of  mountains  de 
pressed  him.  When  he  caught  an  occasional 
glimpse  of  Popo  he  was  conscious  of  a  longing  to 

286 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

stand  on  its  high  summit.  "If  I  might  only  stand  on 
the  highest  peak  on  earth,"  he  murmured  aloud,  "I 
could  see  the  whole  world  and  all  the  intentions  of 
God." 

Speaking  aloud  while  alone  became  a  habit  with 
him.  Walking  at  dawn  he  came  upon  a  long  string 
of  shivering  bodies,  crouched  in  doorways,  littering 
the  sidewalk,  tangled  with  each  other  in  conserva 
tion  of  miserable  warmth,  clad  in  filthy  remnants 
of  the  garments  of  decency.  It  was  the  bread-line. 
They  were  waiting  for  the  doors  of  some  charita 
ble  institution  which  had  flared  into  a  short  life  on 
some  woman's  conscience-money  to  open  its  doors. 
Standing  amid  the  odorous  evidence  of  distress, 
he  turned  and  stood  watching  the  frequent  flash 
ings  of  the  passing  motor-cars  of  libertine  officials 
and  dissolute  military,  returning  from  nightly 
orgies. 

"It's  a  foul  soul,''  murmured  Digby,  "that  fouls 
its  own  nest — all  of  it — that  leaves  no  clean  air  for 
its  own  to  breathe!" 

In  the  course  of  his  wanderings  on  the  follow 
ing  evening  he  found  himself  before  the  garden 
of  the  hospital.  He  slipped  in,  walked  along  the 

287 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

veranda  to  his  wife's  window,  saw  that  she  was 
awake,  and  entered.  It  was  a  week  since  Mary  had 
seen  him  but  his  presence  aroused  in  her  no  special 
sign  of  emotion.  Her  imprisoned  eyes  studied  him 
with  a  settled,  uncurious  apathy.  He  sat  and  talked 
to  her  but  told  her  nothing  of  Ellerton,  nothing 
of  Madeleine. 

Of  what  use?  Mary,  the  genuine,  the  consist 
ently  simple,  had  lived  for  her  home  alone.  It  had 
been  her  sole  exposition  of  a  broad  faith  and  a  fixed 
religion,  her  one  element  of  moral  expression.  Her 
home  was  gone  and  had  left  her  twisted  body  with 
out  active  soul.  She  was  an  abandoned  shell,  a 
deserted  habitation.  These  things  struck  Digby's 
understanding  with  a  clarity  and  force  which  could 
not  be  denied.  He  felt  companionship  only  for  that 
which  was  dead  within  her.  He  left  her  presence 
with  a  feeling  of  finality,  as  though  he  had  seen  in 
that  particular  aspect  all  that  could  ever  be  seen, 
and  returned  to  his  cheerless,  dust-covered  flat.  At 
the  door  was  a  roll  of  newspapers.  Some  friend 
knowing  his  destitution  had  been  sending  him  a  New 
York  daily. 

He  opened  the  bundle,  glanced  hurriedly  over 
288 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

the  head-lines  and  then  turned  to  the  casualty  lists. 
He  was  persuaded  that  Junior  was  to  fall,  so  con 
vinced  that  his  present  occupation  amounted  to  noth 
ing  more  than  a  search  for  satisfaction  of  curiosity, 
for  a  proof  of  the  infallibility  of  his  prescience.  He 
took  up  from  the  table  an  article  which  was  oddly 
incongruous  in  that  setting  of  poverty,  a  long- 
bladed  paper-knife  of  sterling  silver  with  a  glistening 
handle  of  cut  crystal.  It  too  had  been  sent  to  him 
by  some  friend  of  prosperous  days  but  who  knew 
nothing  of  his  present  penury,  accompanying 
a  copy  of  The  Education  of  Henry  Adams.  The 
book  he  had  never  read  but  the  knife  came  in 
handily  for  tracing  down  the  columns  of  fine  print. 
Its  point  now  worked  steadily  down  the  page ;  came 
to  a  pause. 

"Sergeants,"  he  read,  and  then  in  finer  type: 
"Richard  Digby,  Jr.  Mexico,  (N.  Y.?)  K.  A." 

He  took  from  his  breast  pocket  a  .much- worn 
postal  card,  the  only  word  from  Junior  which  had 
succeeded  in  overcoming  heartbreaking  delays  of 
mails  and  in  penetrating  the  labyrinth  of  censor 
ships.  It  had  been  written  in  Hoboken,  mailed  in 
Hoboken,  on  receipt  by  the  authorities  of  a  blanket- 

289 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

cable  announcing  the  successful  completion  of  the 
voyage.  "Safely  arrived.  Love  to  all.  Richard 
Digby,  Jr.,  A.  E.  F." 


"Father,  here  is  a  new  word.    Tell  me  the  meaning 
of  alarmist." 

"Every  prophet  whose  prophecy  has  not  yet  come 
true." 

"What  then  is  a  Seer?" 

"A  madman  dragging  Wisdom  by  the  hair" 


CHAPTER  XI 

DIGBY  finally  slipped  the  card  into  his  pocket, 
arose,  dropped  the  paper,  but  still  holding 
the  knife  went  out  hatless  into  the  streets.  He  was 
in  the  grip  of  a  strange  exaltation  as  though  the 
confirmation  of  Junior's  passing  had  raised  him  a 
long  step  up  on  that  peak  from  which  he  might 
see  the  whole  world  and  all  the  intentions  of  God. 
As  from  an  aerie  hermitage  upon  a  towering  moun 
tainside  he  looked  down  upon  a  vast  nation,  three 
million  maggots  crawling  over  a  mothering  host 
composed  of  many  tribes  and  a,  round  dozen  millions 
of  individuals,  massed  into  a  single  huge  lethargi 
cally  squirming  body. 

So  vast  an  entity  could  be  subject  to  no  sudden 
convulsions  of  agony ;  it  moved,  but  with  monstrous 
writhings,  each  ripple  a  century  of  pain.  Through 
out  its  length  festering  patches  had  a  life  of  their 
own,  supporting  the  maggot  society  taking  nutriment 
from  corruption.  These  parasites  were  only  three 
million  strong,  but  they  represented  those  minute 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

forces  of  evil  invisible  in  their  action  to  the  naked 
eye  which  infect,  contaminate  and  ultimately  con 
quer  with  the  inexorable  finality  of  gangrene  and 
mortification. 

"Why  can't  they  see  it?"  cried  Digby  aloud, 
standing  stockstill  on  an  empty  street  corner.  "For 
four  hundred  years  a  Latin  incrustation  has  fed 
upon  this  people,  sucked  its  blood,  infected  it  with 
the  virus  of  an  appalling  decadence ;  never  governed 
it,  never!" 

He  started  walking  again,  his  head  now  gone 
very  gray  moving  from  side  to  side  as  though  to 
shake  itself  free  from  all  material  actualities.  Two 
acquaintances  caught  sight  of  him,  stopped  simul 
taneously  in  their  tracks  and  stared  after  his 
terrifying  figure,  so  lank,  striding  so  swiftly,  gestic 
ulating  so  majestically  with  the  gleaming  silver 
paper-knife,  disappearing  into  the  gloom  of  an  ill- 
lighted  thoroughfare. 

"Even-mind  Digby,"  murmured  one  of  them 
sadly.  "I  wondered  what  had  become  of  him." 

Digby  hurried  on,  unconsciously  seeking  solitudes, 
turning  with  impatience  when  he  came  across  a  clus 
ter  of  lights  but  pausing  whenever  he  found  himself 

293 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

at  a  deserted  intersection  of  streets.  At  one  such  cor 
ner  he  cried,  "What  have  I  seen?  I  alone?  The 
age  of  an  eagle,  noble,  but  still  a  bird  of  prey; 
the  age  of  a  sucking  dove  set  to  hatch  the  eagle's 
eggs  and  destined  to  feed  its  voracious  young  with 
his  own  body —  And  now?  Now  the  age  of  the 
seven-year  locusts,  of  the  returning  black  cloud  of 
eternal  vultures,  doomed  through  centuries  of  a 
monochromatic  diet  to  demand  and  feed  on  carrion !" 

He  hastened  from  that  spot  as  though  fleeing 
from  miasmic  odours  only  to  come  to  a  stand  again. 
"And  we — we  Americans — have  declared  a  closed 
season  for  vultures!  Our  head  has  been  in  the 
clouds  of  altruistic  reason,  our  foot  heavy  upon  the 
neck  of  a  people  rotting  in  bondage.  Inarticulate. 
Only  their  festering  wounds  cry  out,  'God!  God!' 
where  there  is  no  God  and  no  ear  to  hear!" 

An  hour  later  he  was  still  fleeing  from  the  puny, 
ineffectual  artificial  lights  of  men,  still  seeking  the 
illumination  that  comes  only  to  the  soul  made  free 
of  darkness.  "We  have  forgotten,"  he  cried  out, 
"that  there  are  sores  that  only  the  knife  can  heal. 
We  have  been  like  blind  children,  robbed  of  hearing 
and  scent  and  the  sense  of  touch,  content  to  make 

294 


mudpiesof  muck.  It's  on  our  hands;  it  sticks  to 
our  fingers.  And  with  those  hands  we  cling  to  the 
fouled  skirts  of  liberty  and  cry,  'Peace!  Peace!' 
when  there  is  no  peace !  And  many  whisper  gently, 
'But  now  that  we  have  dropped  the  sword,  what  can 
we  do?' 

"Evacuate!"  roared  Digby,  the  shout  echoing 
down  the  void  of  the  empty  street  in  which  he  stood. 
"Not  like  ghouls  who  draw  aside,  watch  the  murder 
of  their  own,  then  leap  across  the  line  to  share  with 
the  assassin  the  spoils  from  the  dead.  No !  not  like 
those  who  cry  softly  on  the  name  of  a  Divinity 
who  came  bearing  not  peace  but  a  sword  and  hear 
ing  no  answer  whisper,  'The  Master  is  away;  let 
us  forget  and  lie  together  in  frankincense  and 
myrrh !' 

"If  indeed,"  he  continued,  raising  his  empty  hand 
on  high,  "we  have  dropped  the  sword  forever  and 
turned  our  back  upon  the  scourge  with  which  Our 
Lord  cleansed  the  temple,  then  let  us  use  the  weap 
ons  of  peace  as  men,  give  these  cormorants  a  space 
of  hours  to  admit  a  band  of  honest  guardians  to 
the  trust  they  have  defiled,  a  river  Alpheus  from 
without  to  sweep  clean  once  and  for  all  their  Augean 

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NOT  ALL  .THE  KING'S  HORSES 

stables  of  four  centuries  ,of  filth  or  else  evacuate , 
cut  those  of  us  who  still  live  here  from  the  con 
taminating  breath  of  a  life  no  longer  clean  and, 
as  the  gods  above  show  no  favour,  cut  those  at  home 
from  the  gains  of  shame!  Let  no  ship  of  any  out 
raged  nation  leave  or  reach  these  poisoned  shores; 
turn  our  backs  upon  the  murder  of  a  people  if  we 
like  but  at  least  keep  our  hands  from  puddling  in 
their  blood!" 

His  shoulders  shrank  in  a  gesture  of  abject  hu 
miliation.  "Oh,  Lord!"  he  cried,  "all  of  us  have 
sinned,  all  of  us  who  take  profit  by  dishonourable 
peace  or  more  sordid  gain,  all  of  us  have  sinned. 
Let  every  man  who  shares  carrion  with  the  vulture 
throng  be  branded  with  the  mark  of  shame,  and 
every  soft  woman  who  feeds  from  his  hand  know 
herself  for  a  harlot! 

With  head  still  hanging  low  he  came  out  upon 
a  wide  space  which  formed  the  junction  of  five  of 
the  great  avenues  of  the  City  of  Palaces.  He  raised 
his  eyes  and  saw  the  flag  of  his  country,  forgotten 
by  some  careless  servitor,  hanging  limp  with  the 
night  dew  high  above  a  faded  coat-of-arms.  He 
knew  well  the  emblem  held  within  the  circlet  of 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

bronze;  an  eagle  rampant,  holding  in  opposing  tal 
ons  a  sheaf  of  arrows  and  an  olive  branch. 

"A  miracle  has  come  to  pass,"  he  murmured; 
"there  is  no  war  and  no  arrows;  no  peace  and  no 
olive  branch;  chaos  has  laid  itself  down  to  sleep!" 

He  started  across  the  street  with  a  half-formed 
intention  of  wakening  a  servant  to  proper  respect 
for  the  flag.  A  rushing  motor-car  filled  with  a 
ribald  band  swerved,  missed  him  by  inches,  hurled 
itself  onward  but  presently  came  to  a  slithering 
stop.  A  girl  sprang  from  it  and  ran  back  toward 
Digby's  solitary  figure  continuing  its  interrupted 
way  to  the  broad  sidewalk. 

She  wore  a  frock  of  foulard  silk,  dark  blue  and 
spotted  with  great  white  polka  dots,  light  as  the 
breezes  that  tossed  it  about  her  hurrying  limbs.  It 
was  simple  but  ravishing  in  its  revelations  of  young 
beauty,  open  at  the  neck  to  the  tremulous  verge  of 
daring,  short  in  length  but  still  not  brazen  in  dis 
closure.  Her  dark  hair  was  piled  upon  her  head 
which  wore  no  other  covering.  Her  cheeks  were 
pale  beneath  two  spots  of  borrowed  glow. 

"Father!"  she  cried,  "where  are  you  going? 
[What  are  you  doing  with  that  knife?" 

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NOT  ALL.THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Digby  trembled  suddenly  from  head  to  foot;  he 
did  not  look  up  but  stared  at  the  straight-bladed 
paper-cutter.  "It's  sterling  silver,"  he  said  dumbly. 
"Perhaps  I  can  sell  it.  But  I — I  don't  want  to  sell 
it.  There  are  sores  that  only  the  knife  can  heal." 

Madeleine  snatched  a  chain  purse  from  her  wrist. 
Her  eyes  were  wide  and  staring,  her  lips  quivering 
with  tiny  vibrations  she  was  powerless  to  master, 
her  bosom  rose  and  fell  to  a  wild  fluttering  which 
appeared  to  threaten  to  burst  her  body  asunder. 

"Daddy,"  she  chattered  as  one  in  the  throes  of  a 
chill,  "here's  money — plenty  of  money.  Give  me 
the  knife." 

He  took  the  purse,  dropped  it,  looked  into  her 
eyes.  They  seemed  slowly  to  widen  to  an  absolute, 
an  infinite  communion.  Within  them  he  saw  a  strug 
gling  prisoner  desperately  constrained.  As  one 
might  open  the  door  of  a  gilded  cage  to  free  a  pant 
ing  bird,  he  struck  downward  with  the  knife.  It 
entered  at  the  lovely  curve  of  her  young  breast, 
sank  into  her  heart.  To  her  eyes  sprang  the  look 
of  the  Madeleine  of  old,  a  look  of  wistful  love,  of 
boundless  trust  and  unquestioning  adoration. 

"Oh,  Daddy!"  she  gasped;  smiled,  choked  and 
298 


fell  not  headlong  but  with  a  slow  sinking  of  the 
knees  to  rest 

A  hoarse  shout  came  from  the  motor-car ;  then  a 
hurricane  of  explosive  sound  as  it  started  and  roared 
away  up  the  Paseo,  muffler  cut-out  wide  open,  a 
screen  of  misty  smoke  trailing  it,  blotting  it  from 
view.  It  was  as  though  the  machine  itself  were  ter 
rified  and  had  bolted  from  the  tragic  scene  un 
aided  by  the  nerveless  hands  of  its  despicable  occu 
pants,  vicious  children  frightened  by  the  price  of 
folly. 

Digby  suffered  no  awakening.  From  half  across 
the  square  he  turned,  troubled  by  the  memory  of  an 
errand  uncompleted.  He  remembered.  He  was 
to  have  called  a  servant  to  take  in  the  flag.  He 
started  back  but  stopped  as  his  eyes  fell  on  Made 
leine,  no  longer  Madeleine,  only  a  little  heap  of 
flesh  untenanted.  She  knelt  with  her  heavy  head 
bowed  very  low.  About  her  crumpled  body  flared 
the  foulard  dress.  It  was  like  a  patch  of  blue  sky, 
star-spangled,  come  down  from  the  dome  of  heaven 
to  hold  her  from  the  stain  of  earth. 

"The  banner  of  her  people,"  murmured  Digby, 
and  with  the  words  came  to  himself.  He  stood 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

erect,  immobile,  his  eyes  fixed  with  a  piercing  inten 
sity  on  the  sacrifice  of  an  Abraham  unstayed  by  the 
voice  of  God.  A  steely  composure  settled  upon  his 
face  suddenly  ennobled  above  the  limits  set  to  man's 
mortality  and  as  though  in  turning  his  back  on  Mad 
eleine  he  turned  it  also  on  the  last  shred  of  the  husk 
of  his  own  flesh,  he  strode  away  with  firm  step 
toward  the  mountains. 

"Rox  was  right,"  he  said  aloud  but  quite  calmly. 
"He  couldn't  say  what  he  knew  in  words,  he  could 
only  live  out  the  knowledge  that  was  in  him  to  the 
bitter  end.  But  I  can  say  it  now ;  I  can  say  it  for 
him.  A  man  can't  abandon  the  gods  within  him,  he 
can't  moralize  and  then  shirk,  cry  peace  and  feed  on 
others'  war,  and  yet  live.  Upon  this  foundation  is 
set  our  slender  hope  of  immortality.  No  surrender ! 
None!  Not  to  the  love  of  self  or  of  woman  or  of 
the  dearly  beloved,  the  tender  fruit  of  our  own 
loins.  Honour,  justice,  right,  know  no  division,  no 
partial  allegiance  fed  piecemeal  to  a  complacent  God. 
I  will  cleave  to  this  divinity  alone,  to  the  little  spark 
that  is  in  me.  Let  it  seem  cold  to  alien  touch,  piti 
fully  dim  to  others'  eyes,  yet  will  I  feed  it,  keep  it 
aglow  with  the  last  shred  of  mortal  life!" 

As  though  led  inexorably  by  the  thoughts  he  was 
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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

uttering  he  started  deliberately  for  Mountain  Acre, 
thirty  miles  away.  What  mattered  food,  raiment 
or  shelter,  or  the  safety  of  the  coward  spirit  ?  Only 
in  that  beloved  spot  where  he  had  striven  for  these 
passing  attributes  and  reached  though  blindly  be 
yond  them  for  the  greater  gifts  of  God's  eternal 
keeping  could  he  now  stand  his  last  watch,  his,  hands 
red  with  sacrificial  blood,  his  heart  dead  but  his  soul 
still  upright  and  pinioned  for  cerulean  flight. 

In  the  misty  dawn  he  reached  Huipulco,  swerved 
to  the  left  through  Tepepan  to  Noria,  turned  to  the 
right  and  faced  the  first  steep  rise  to  San  Mateo. 
Twice  he  had  been  hailed  by  government  outposts, 
and  here  again.  He  paid  not  the  slightest  attention 
to  the  orders  of  the  sleepy  guards  to  halt.  Hatless, 
threadbare,  muttering  or  gesticulating,  he  passed 
them  by  as  though  they  were  non-existent.  His  pov 
erty-stricken  figure  seemed  to  none  of  them  worth 
the  waste  of  a  cartridge.  They  watched  him, 
faintly  curious,  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  let 
him  go. 

Until  he  reached  the  flat  between  Topelejo  and 
Parres,  Digby's  voice  was  silent,  all  his  breath 
snatched  from  his  lungs  by  the  strain  of  the  steep 
climb  in  the  high  altitude,  but  once  on  the  great 

301 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

plateau,  accidented  only  by  gullies,  he  began  to  talk 
aloud. 

"Outposts,"  he  said;  "a  dozen  outposts  within 
the  city  limits !  After  years  of  government  control ! 
Not  weeks  nor  months — years !  American  merchant 
excursionists  holding  out  the  greedy  hand  of  friend 
ship  one  day  and  three  weeks  later  a  picnic  party 
held  for  ransom  within  sight  of  town  and  a  ranch 
cleaned  of  a  hundred  head  of  stock  in  the  suburbs. 
Never  a  day  in  three  years  when  bandits  haven't 
overshadowed  the  Capital.  Why  ?  Because  author 
ity  needs  them,  because  it  lives  only  by  disorder  and 
knows  it!" 

He  nodded  his  head  heavily  and  continued.  "This 
encrustation,  this  Latin  scourge,  this  horde  of  para 
sites  cursed  by  God  with  the  power  to  read  and 
write,  hides  itself  from  a  credulous  world  behind  a 
screen  of  the  printed  shibboleths  of  purest  altruism. 
It  makes  a  law  to  return  the  land  to  the  peons,  and 
what  happens?  The  world  applauds  and  the  pro 
prietors  pay  millions  to  the  corrupt  officialdom !" 

He  nodded  again.  "Unable  to  take  a  ride  ten 
miles  out  of  its  own  capital,  it  issues  an  edict  that 
no  male  shall  marry  without  passing  an  eugenic  test. 

302 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

'Wonderful,'  cries  the  world,  thinks  itself  a  laggard 
and  never  sees  the  naive  announcement  in  the  daily 
press  that  the  plan  has  been  abandoned  because 
scarcely  an  applicant  could  pass!  Will  the  edict 
therefore  die  ?  No,  it  will  surely  come  again  backed 
by  officialdom  with  no  private  reputation  at  stake, 
and  live  not  on  the  blood  from  a  man's  veins  but 
from  his  purse." 

His  head  swung  despondently  from  side  to  side. 
"A  corrupt  generation,"  he  murmured.  "They 
slapped  the  face  of  the  Red  Cross  in  a  time  of  pesti 
lence,  cried  with  inflated  pride  to  the  world  that 
they  can  care  for  their  own,  but  after  two  years  let 
their  papers  describe  the  horrible  death  of  starving 
aged  women  and  weakened  children  eaten  alive  by 
rats!  In  the  City — the  City  of  Palaces!" 

Finding  himself  in  the  long  single  street  of  a 
village  he  had  always  known  as  squalid  but  teeming 
with  life,  smiling  and  contented  in  its  grime,  he 
stopped  and  stared.  Every  house  was  abandoned, 
roofs  gone,  charred  walls  broken,  blind  windows 
already  choked  with  matted  bush-growth  from  with 
in.  The  once-fine  highway  was  in  ruins,  far  on  the 
road  to  one  of  its  century-spaced  obliterations. 

303 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

Until  this  moment  he  had  not  noted  the  grim  sig 
nificance  of  its  abandonment. 

"Just  beyond  the  suburbs,"  he  muttered.  "Dev 
astation,  slaughter,  rapine.  While  we  fought  for 
freedom  abroad,  these  people  refused  the  hand  of 
friendship,  devoured  their  own  young,  shouted 
neutrality,'  and  stood  at  our  backs  with  a  knife 
they  dared  not  use.  And  we  proclaimed  sonorously 
that  every  country  has  a  right  to  its  own  salvation !" 

He  hastened  on.  "Who  does  not  know,"  he 
asked,  "that  the  mind  of  a  man  whose  frame  is  eaten 
by  the  king's  evil  flares  up  to  a  white  light  of  intelli 
gence  before  it  forever  dies?  And  so  with  this 
rotten  body  politic  laying  its  contamination  upon  a 
supine  sea  of  human  souls.  It  cries  reform,  prints 
reform,  sees  reform  with  a  crystal  vision  and  wal 
lows  far  below  in  the  slough  of  every  vice,  every 
dishonour,  splashes  about  in  the  bogholes  of  das 
tardly  failure  in  the  performance  of  daily  duty  un 
adorned.  No  standards  left  for  human  frailty,  none. 
They  and  their  women  go  to  the  one  road,  and  we  are 
all  splashed,  all  soiled  with  the  infamous  mud,  even 
— even  Madeleine !" 

Staring  wide-eyed  along  the  abandoned  highway 
304 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

he  cried  out,  "Revenue!  Graft!  Graft!  Revenue! 
They  suck  and  suck,  and  with  foully-caked  lips 
shout  to  the  world,  'See  how  much  blood  is  still 
left  in  the  carcass!'  and  the  world  answers,  'Won 
derful  !  but  it's  because  the  body  still  struggles.  Let 
me  hold  it  down  for  you !' 

"Who  would  believe,"  continued  Digby  in  a  loud 
voice;  "who  bothers  to  remember  that  the  conquer 
ing  parasites  who  cry  'Patria'  like  a  cuckoo  croak 
ing  in  a  stolen  nest  and  who  have  dragged  down  into 
a  universal  mire  of  infamy  this  unhappy  land,  came 
to  overturn  laws  by  which  thieving,  the  falsifying 
of  weights,  the  changing  of  boundary  lines,  intem 
perance,  adultery  and  murder,  all  casual  offenses 
to-day,  were  punishable  by  death!  And  that  men 
lived  then  who  knew  a  just  judge  by  sight!  In 
our  blindness  will  we  see  purity  in  some  friendly 
faction  of  this  seething  mass  of  the  uniformally  in 
iquitous?  Perhaps,  and  by  backing  it  help  to  start 
another  cycle  of  tyranny  on  the  worn  road  of  Cal 
vary,  tail  in  on  the  crucifixion  of  thirteen  million 
miserable  souls!" 

He  stopped,  his  head  hanging  to  ponderous 
thoughts.  "And  while  we  stand  aside  and  simper, 

305 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

'Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?'  there  is  no  end,  no 
light  in  sight.  Only  this.  That  an  ancient  power 
is  abroad  over  the  earth  to-day  which  no  man  has 
named,  a  force  of  destiny  for  evil  or  for  good  vast 
beyond  our  present  visioning.  It  is  busy  piling  up 
the  mountain  of  human  woe  until  such  time  as  men 
shall  drop  the  scales  of  hypdtrisy  from  their  eyes 
and  gaze  upon  the  truth  behind  the  mirror.  It  is 
not  God  nor  is  it  Devil  but  in  its  clutch  the  greatest 
of  men  squirm  like  worms ;  decked  in  the  puny  pomp 
of  mundane  authority,  holding  world-power  like  a 
rattle  in  a  baby's  hand  they  bawl  for  war  and  it 
gives  them  peace ;  cry  'Peace !  Peace !'  and  it  chokes 
war  down  their  puling  throats.  Before  its  meas 
ured  stride  centuries  go  down,  nations  pass  away. 
This  one,  too.  Some  day — some  blessed  day  of 
gleaming  hope.  So  long  to  wait !  So  long  to  wait 
because  behind  the  doctrine  of  self -salvation  we 
have  blared  to  the  world,  my  neighbour  may  befoul 
his  own  door-step  and  I  may  only  hold  my  nose 
and  pass  him  by!" 

He  threw  up  a  hand  in  an  expressive  gesture. 
"Why  am  I  the  only  one  to  see  its  measured  stride, 
this  force  that  never  speaks  to  men,  only  crushes 

306 


them,  keeps  on  (crushing  them,  because  they  are 
blind,  because  they  are  deaf,  because  death  is  a  just 
portion  to  every  people  who  rot  in  complacency  and 
forget  that  inactivity  is  at  the  inception  of  every 
putrefaction.  But  I  can  hear  it,  I  alone  can  hear. 
It  comes  on  with  a  rumbling  like  a  great  mill,  a 
crusher  of  mighty  stones  as  if  they  were  rubble.  It 
says,  'Clean  the  world  or  pass  away ;  clean  the  world 
or  pass  away.'  We  too,  all  our  puerile  greatness, 
lie  in  its  path.  We  are  of  the  world  and  we  whisper 
languidly  to  the  world's  little  toe,  eaten  by  cancer, 
'Qean  thyself,  brother;  thy  sore  is  none  of  my 
affair !  Peace !  Peace !'  we  cheep  and  cast  in  our 
lot  with  far-away  death." 

In  mid-afternoon  he  stumbled  into  Huichilac.  He 
was  unconscious  of  fatigue,  oblivious  to  the  stag 
gering  of  his  long  stride.  Here  was  ruin,  utter  ruin. 
From  every  side  choked  windows  stared  at  him, 
doorless  enclosures  which  had  once  been  houses 
cried  aloud  to  the  open  air  with  an  eloquence  be 
yond  speech.  He  turned  the  corner  of  revelation, 
that  corner  whose  turning  twenty  years  before  had 
first  disclosed  to  his  eyes  the  inextinguishable  glory 
of  the  golden  valley.  He  stood  erect,  stockstill, 

307 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

his  shoulders  squared,  his  gray  uncovered  head  dis 
heveled  by  the  wind,  his  chin  uplifted,  his  eyes  fixed 
in  a  piercing  gaze  that  soared  across  illimitable 
space.  The  memory  of  the  message  that  he  had 
torn  after  long  pondering  from  the  heart  of  this 
matchless  scene  echoed  in  his  ears.  "The  earth  is 
of  the  body  of  God." 

He  stood  alone  on  the  vast  verge,  no  longer  a 
pathetic  figure.  About  him  was  the  solitude  of  the 
dead,  the  silently  sobbing  loneliness  that  haunts  only 
the  path  of  destruction, — ruined  habitations,  the 
neighbourhood  of  monuments,  the  grass-grown  cob 
blestones  where  men  once  walked  and  children 
played. 

"Thunder  the  truth !"  shouted  Digby,  raising  both 
his  clenched  fists  on  high. 

"Thunder  the  truth !"  echoed  empty  vale  and  hill 
and  distant  peak.  Two  sentinels  on  picket  duty 
crawled  out  of  a  thatched  shelter  on  a  far-away  knoll 
and  stared  wonderingly  about  them. 

Digby's  voice  spoke  again,  resonant  above  the  an 
swering  rumble  of  the  hills.  "Thunder  the  truth !" 
he  roared.  "Vultures  who  feed  upon  the  beautiful 
body  of  God !  Unclean !  Unclean !  Naked-necked, 

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NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

gory-headed  with  the  blood  of  their  own.  The  cloud 
of  them  is  black  like  the  shadow  of  the  wrath  of 
heaven,  their  talons  drip  pollution  and  the  poison 
that  kills  beyond  death,  slaughters  new-born  the  hope 
of  resurrection.  Loose  my  tongue,  O  Lord,  to  a 
new  commandment:  Thou  shalt  not  defile  the  fair 
body  of  God!" 

His  hands  dropped  to  his  sides  as  though  his 
arms  had  been  suddenly  withered,  his  head  fell  for 
ward  between  his  shrunken  shoulders  and  his  eyes, 
wide  open  and  frightened,  stared  from  side  to  side. 
In  that  last  cry  the  disembodied  mind  had  flown  too 
high  above  the  realm  of  common  sense  ever  quite  to 
return.  It  left  his  miserable  frame  to  struggle  un 
aided  with  a  bursting  heart  turned  sentient  as  if  to 
taste  the  full  bitterness  of  a  last  despair. 

He  slunk  stealthily,  then  ran  openly,  stumbling, 
falling,  rising,  down  the  steep  descent  to  the  gate 
way  of  Mountain  Acre,  scrambled  through  its  ruin, 
hastened  up  the  driveway  until  he  came  to  where 
an  arch  had  once  opened  upon  a  peaceful  garden. 
A  stark  and  lonely  pillar  of  scorched  brick  marked 
the  entrance;  beyond  it  was  a  chaos  of  matted 
growth  pierced  by  the  pointing  fingers  of  shattered 

309 


NOT  ALL  THE  KING'S  HORSES 

walls.  What  was  left  of  a  privet  hedge  had  risen 
high  against  the  sky  and  bore  black  fruit,  shriveled 
and  rotting.  Arms  upthrown,  he  fell  on  his  knees 
and  buried  his  face  against  the  brick  pillar.  In  that 
moment  he  was  all  flesh,  all  suffering. 

"Oh,  Madeleine!"  he  sobbed.  "My  baby!  My 
own  baby!  Not  all  the  king's  horses!" 

Far  above  him  the  two  pickets  on  outpost  duty 
wagered  a  handful  of  beans  against  a  cigarette  as 
to  which  would  hit  him  first.  The  cigarette  won 
and  at  the  shock  Digby  turned  suddenly  calm.  "Peo 
ples,"  he  murmured,  "sin  collectively;  they  seldom 
repay  the  individual,  for  life  is  short,  the  vengeance 
of  the  Lord  is  long." 

THE  END 


000  128085 


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